Beruflich Dokumente
Kultur Dokumente
Ronnie D. Lipschutz
Lipschutz, Ronnie D.
After authority : war, peace, and global politics in the 21st
century / Ronnie D. Lipschutz.
p. cm. — (SUNY series in global politics)
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 0-7914-4561-5 (hc : alk. paper). — ISBN 0-7914-4562-3 (pbk.
: alk. paper)
1. World politics—1989– 2. War. 3. Peace. I. Title.
II. Series.
D860.L55 2000
909.82'9—dc21 99-38551
CIP
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To Lee Grodzins
Contents
Acknowledgments ix
Notes 183
Bibliography 197
Index 221
vii
Acknowledgments
This book has been a long time coming. It is the second in what I have
come to think of as my “security triology.” The first was On Security
(Columbia, 1995), the third is tentatively entitled Minds at Peace, and
it should appear sometime early in the next millennium. Although
some of the preliminary thinking behind this volume occurred in the
mid- to late-1980s, the ideas did not really germinate until I arrived at
UC-Santa Cruz in 1990, and taught a senior seminar entitled “National
Security and Interdependence.” Looking at the literature, I began to
think more was needed in international relations than just epistemo-
logical debate and more was needed in foreign policy than simply
“redefining security.” I tried, therefore, to write on globalization and
national security during my first few years at UCSC, but the book
refused to be written. Eventually, I gave up, and went on to other
books and other projects. Sometimes, however, books come together
quite unexpectedly, and when I returned to the project in 1997,
I discovered that a number of papers and articles I had written,
ix
x Acknowledgments
1
2 Chapter 1
What Booth did not pinpoint were the reasons for the “disintegration
of sovereignty” or, for that matter, where it might lead. Indeed, al-
though virtually everyone writing on the future of world politics takes
as a starting point the decline in the sovereign prerogatives of the state,
almost no one places the responsibility for this loss directly on the
state itself. It is not that the governments of contemporary states have
meant to lose sovereignty; they were searching for means to further
enhance their power, control and sovereignty. Rather, it was that cer-
tain institutional practices set in train after World War II have, para-
doxically, reduced the sovereign autonomy that was, after all, the
ultimate objective of the Allied forces in that war.
Indeed, if there is a single central “unintended consequence” of
the international politics and economics of the past fifty years, it is the
replacement of the sovereign state by the sovereign individual as the
subject of world politics. In saying this, I do not mean to suggest that
states are bound to disappear, or that the “legitimate monopoly of
violence” will, somehow, be reassigned to tribes, clans, or individuals
(although some, such as Kaplan [1996] and Martin van Creveld [1991],
argue that, in many places, this has already happened). Instead, it is to
4 Chapter 1
dictators; the new threat is abusive parents. In short, loyalty to the state
has been replaced by loyalty to the self, and national authority has
been shouldered aside by self-interest. The world of the future might
not be one of 200 or 500 or even 1,000 (semi-) sovereign states co-
existing uneasily; it could well be one in which every individual is
a state of her own, a world of 10 billion statelets, living in a true State
of Nature.
during the transition from one to the other. I make few predictions, and
no promises.
I begin, in chapter 2, with “The Worries of Nations.” One of the
much-noted paradoxes of the 1990s is the coexistence of processes of
integration and fragmentation, of globalism and particularism, of si-
multaneous centralization and decentralization often in the very same
place. James Rosenau (1990) has coined the rather unwieldy term
“fragmegration” to describe this phenomenon, which he ascribes largely
to the emergence of a “sovereignty-free” world in the midst of a “sov-
ereignty-bound” one. Rosenau frames this “bifurcation” of world poli-
tics as a series of conceptual and practical “jailbreaks,” as people
acquire the knowledge and capabilities to break out of the political and
social structures that have kept them imprisoned for some centuries.
Rosenau’s theory—if it can be called that—is an essentially liberal
one and, while he acknowledges the importance of economic factors
in the split between the two worlds, he shies away from recognizing
the central role of material and economic change and the ancillary
processes of social innovation and reorganization in this phenomenon.
Without falling into a deterministic historical materialism, it is
critical to recognize just how central “production,” as Robert Cox
(1987) and Stephen Gill (1993) put it, is to the changes to which we
are witness. Production is more than just the making of things (by
which I mean material goods as well as knowledge); it is the making
of particular things under particular forms of social organization to
fufill particular societal purposes (Latour, 1986). These purposes are
not autonomous of the material basis of a society but neither are they
superstructure to that base. The two constitute each other and, through
practice, do so on a continuous and dynamically changing basis. So-
cial organization then becomes the means by which things are pro-
duced and used to fulfill those purposes. Lest this all seem too
tautological, or functionalist, there is more at work here than just
reproduction, as we shall see. Rosenau’s “fragmegration” is, thus, a
consequence of more than just the acquisition of knowledge and skills
in a postsovereign political space; it is a direct result of the particular
ways in which production and purpose have been pursued and the
forms of social organization established to facilitate that pursuit.
The simultaneous conditions of integration and fragmentation
are, then, part of the process of social innovation and reorganization
Theory of Global Politics 7
and these just might be the boy or girl next door. Soldiers become
cops. Cops acquire armored cars and tanks. Citizens are scrutinized
for criminal proclivities. Criminals adopt military armaments and prac-
tices. Even the paranoid have enemies and, in a paranoid society, can
anyone trust anyone except her/himself? (There may be good reason
to be paranoid, as we shall see in chapter 7; the chances are that
someone is watching you).
Historically, the purpose of “security” was to protect state and
society against war. In chapter 4, “Arms and Affluence,” I ask “What-
ever happened to World War III?” War has long been a staple topic of
film, fiction, and philosophy, if only because it is so uncommon. For
those in the midst of battle, there is hardly a big picture: One’s focus
is on survival from one moment to the next. For those who are observ-
ers, it is the infrequency and extremities of war that is so fascinating.
Yet, in virtually all discussions by international relations specialists,
war is taken not as a social institution that can, somehow, be elimi-
nated through deliberate political action, but as a “natural” outgrowth
of human nature and relations between human collectives (see, e.g.,
Waltz, 1959). Where the interests of such collectives come into conflict,
it is assumed, war will result; conversely, if collectives can negotiate
over their interests, peace is possible. Experience suggests we be more
cautious in making such unqualified claims.
Paradoxically, while the war of all against all develops apace, the
wars of state against state become ever more uncommon. The United
States prepares itself for future regional wars, such as the one under-
taken against Iraq, in the face of compelling evidence that such wars
erupt no more than once every decade or two. In place of really existing
war, we now confront virtual warfare, or what I call here “disciplinary
deterrence.” This is war by other means: by example, by punishment, by
public relations. It rests upon the United States not as world policeperson
but as dominatrix, or global vice-principal strolling down the high school
hallway, checking miscreants for hall passes. Violators, such as Iraq, get
spanked (giving new meanings to bondage and domination), and serve
as warning to others who might think about causing trouble. I return to
the implications of this metaphor in chapter 7.
Hobbes and Locke argued that Leviathan and the social contract
were necessary to counter the State of Nature, a condition in which the
sole moral stricture was to survive. Only through the state could men
Theory of Global Politics 9
More than half a century has passed since Karl Polanyi penned those
words. He wrote The Great Transformation in the midst of the greatest
conflagration human civilization has yet known, and, ever since, his
book been regarded as one of the classics of modern political economy.
Polanyi sought to explain why the twentieth century, then not yet half
over, had already been rent by two great wars. Where most blamed
“accidents” for World War I, and Germany, Japan and the Great De-
pression for World War II, Polanyi found an explanation in the dreams
and failures of nineteenth-century laissez-faire capitalists and the market
processes originally set in train during the early years of the first
Industrial Revolution, between 1800 and 1850. The nineteenth century
was a time of social and technological innovation and reorganization
at a scale theretofore unexperienced by anyone. It left an indelible
13
14 Chapter 2
mark on the world and its impacts are still being felt today. The “Great
Transformation” led to the emergence of the modern nation-state as an
active political and economic player in people’s everyday lives and
turned it into an aggressive agent in international relations. It also
resulted, in the twentieth century, in the two world wars.
It would seem unlikely that a fifty-year-old book about events
taking place almost two hundred years ago would have anything to say
to us about either today or the future. Nonetheless, many of the same
phenomena examined by Polanyi are, once again, at work today. In
this chapter, I argue that we have entered a period of social change for
which the history of the Industrial Revolution, and the events that
followed, merit close scrutiny for contemporary parallels. To be sure,
things are not the same, but there are a number of important similari-
ties between then and now. In particular, as the twenty-first century
begins, we find ourselves living through a period of social and tech-
nological innovation and reorganization, taking place not only within
countries but also globally—a phenomenon that is often called “glo-
balization.” We might expect that, as happened in the past, unantici-
pated social and political consequences will follow (on globalization,
see, e.g., Gill and Mittleman, 1997; Sakamoto, 1994; Castells, 1996,
1997, 1998). In the later chapters of this book, we shall see that these
consequences may be violent or peaceful, integrative or fragmenting,
bringing prosperity to some and poverty to others. For now, these are
mostly only possibilities. At some point during the coming century,
however, it is likely that new patterns of global politics will become
clear. We may then be able to look back, as Polanyi did, and describe
how events, processes of change, and human actions during the second
half of the twentieth century led to the new patterns of the twenty-first.
At this point, the future remains cloudy and we can only speculate.
I begin this chapter with a general discussion of industrial revo-
lutions and their impacts within nation-states and on relations between
them. The key element here is social innovation and reorganization at
scales running from the household to the global. I then turn to an
analysis of the “Cold War Compromise,” the concerted attempt follow-
ing World War II to avoid the reemergence of those conditions that
were thought to have led to the two world wars, and especially World
War II. The “compromise” represented the United States’ attempt to
steer the global political and economic system toward stability and
The Worries of Nations 15
people’s lives was such that they had few incentives to leave the land
or enter unregulated labor markets. To be sure, the first stages of
capitalist production had already been in existence for some time,
especially where woven goods were concerned, but these were mostly
made through the cottage industry’s “putting-out” system, based in
weavers’ homes.
The marriage of water and steam power with such industry, dating
from the eighteenth century, made putting out and its social relations of
production obsolete. Now it was possible to run multiple looms at one
time in one place, with laborers working for a daily wage under the
direction of a few on-site managers. But factory owners faced a prob-
lem: How could they get male weavers out of their homes and into the
factories? The answer was, in effect, to undermine the social support
systems that made it possible for them to stay at home, an objective
accomplished through the introduction of a self-regulating market
economy—that is, liberalization. In such an economy, labor, land, and
money would be treated as what Polanyi called “fictitious commodities,”
to be bought and sold without any kind of obvious political manipula-
tion (although, to be implemented and made to work, such liberalization
required major intervention into society and regulation of social rela-
tions; see Gill, 1995:9). Deregulation would ensure availability of the
three commodities at least cost to capital and would, in turn, maximize
capitalists’ return on investment. It would also generate the funds needed
for further national economic expansion (for an exploration of this phe-
nomenon in a contemporary context, see Edmunds, 1996).
These were the circumstances under which the first stage of the
Great Transformation took place. England, which had operated under
principles of mercantilism for some 150 years, made the transition to
a self-regulating market system, free trade, and the gold standard
(Gilpin, 1977, 1987). Lands held as village commons or bound to
particular uses by customary rules were transformed into alienable
private property. (This process had begun in England some 150 years
earlier, and continues today. Enclosure was recently written into the
Mexican constitution with privatization of the ejidos; it is being ef-
fected through privatization of intellectual property rights; it is even
being applied in implementation of the UN Framework Convention on
Climate Change.) The Poor Laws, which had functioned to depress
wages and pauperize the common people, were repealed and replaced
The Worries of Nations 17
tilism. Competition and suspicion led to arms races and mutual hos-
tility. Eventually, wars broke out.
Polyani’s book was published in 1944, the year that Allied policymakers
gathered at Bretton Woods, New Hampshire, to put together their plan
for a postwar economic system (Block, 1977; Kapstein, 1996:20). These
men—and they were virtually all men, among whom were John
Maynard Keynes and Harry Dexter White—were well aware of the
history described by Polanyi. They recognized the inherent tension
between states trying to reconcile their participation in an international
economy with the need to maintain political satisfaction and stability
at home; this, after all, had been the dilemma faced by both Allied and
Axis powers during the 1930s. Hence, the economic system proposed
by Keynes, White, and others was designed to allow countries to
maintain full domestic employment and growth while simultaneously
avoiding the consequences for domestic stability of trade imbalances
and unregulated capital flows, along with semiliberalized trade to re-
duce the problem of surplus capacity (Gilpin, 1987). These goals were
to be accomplished through free and stable exchange rates maintained
by borrowing from and lending to an International Monetary Fund
(IMF), provision of longer-term liquidity through reconstruction and
development loans from the World Bank, free trade regulated by an
International Trade Organization (ITO), and dollar-gold convertibility
to provide an international medium of exchange (for discussions of the
Bretton Woods institutions and how they were meant to work, see
Block, 1977; Ruggie, 1983a, 1991, 1995).
The Bretton Woods arrangements failed almost from the start.
Efforts to restore convertibility of the pound sterling collapsed in the
face of Britain’s enormous wartime debts, insufficient global liquidity,
and the international preference for dollars. Convertibility was post-
poned. Both the IMF and World Bank were undercapitalized, too, and
the United States soon found it necessary to inject money into the in-
ternational economy through grants, loans, and military assistance, which
had its own negative consequences during the 1960s and 1970s in the
“Triffin Dilemma.”2 The ITO never came into existence, although the
20 Chapter 2
These events, and those that followed later, might not have been the
most important happenings during the 1960s and 1970s. There was
another, much more subtle process underway whose significance had
22 Chapter 2
not yet been noticed fully, but whose origins could be traced back to
the 1940s: the Third Industrial Revolution, or what is often called
today the “information” or “electronics revolution.” This latest great
transformation is usually ascribed to the invention of the transistor and
the enormous increases in computing speed and capability that fol-
lowed as more and more semiconductor devices could be crammed
into smaller and smaller spaces. But the information revolution is
better understood not as a cause of that innovation but rather as a
consequence of fundamental innovation in the social organization of
scientific research and development and higher education that began
during World War II.
Prior to 1945, the economic systems of the industrialized coun-
tries were organized around consumer-oriented mass production, or
“Fordism” (Rupert, 1995). Fordist production, characteristic of the
Second Industrial Revolution, was especially widespread in the United
States during the first half of the twentieth century, and well into the
second half. It came to be emulated throughout the world, although it
faltered during the Great Depression as the supply of manufactured
goods and raw materials outstripped the demand of domestic and for-
eign consumers. The Allied victory in World War II was based on
Fordist mass production, which only reinforced the virtues of this type
of economy (Milward, 1977; Rochlin, 1985; for an argument that
military Fordism is over, see Cohen, 1996). Subsequently, at the end
of World War II, factories converted back to civilian production and,
after a few ups and downs of the business cycle, Keynesian military
spending helped to ensure that consumers would be able to purchase
the products turned out by the factories with the wages they earned
making the goods.
What changed? In 1945, Bernard Brodie made the observation
that, with the advent of nuclear weapons, everything had changed. The
only function of the military, he said, would now be to prevent future
wars (quoted in Freedman, 1983:44). Brodie was only half right; the
bomb changed much more than he thought. Neither he nor anyone else
recognized then that the development of the atomic bomb also sig-
naled the beginning of the end for Fordism, marked by a subtle shift
from production based on material capabilities to a system driven by
intellectual ones. The advent of the information revolution coincided
with the origins of the “nuclear revolution” and, indeed, was inherent
The Worries of Nations 23
in it. The change did not come suddenly; just as the First Industrial
Revolution had its roots in steam technology that was developed de-
cades before 1800 and coexisted for some time with the putting-out
system, and the Second in electricity and electrification of factories, so
did Fordism continue to thrive even as it was becoming obsolete.
For example, thinking that numbers would make the difference
in World War III as they had in World War II, the initial American
approach to defense and deterrence was to mass-produce enormous
numbers of atomic and hydrogen bombs (some twenty-five thousand
by the end of the 1950s) so as to bomb Russia to rubble. As time
passed, however, it became obvious that total war with nuclear weap-
ons might not be such a good idea. Most of the nuclear deterrence and
arms-control debates of the following forty years pitted those advocat-
ing mass use of force (mutually assured destruction, or MAD) against
those arguing for niche-targeted “finesse” (MIRVing and counterforce
targeting; see Freedman, 1983).
The mass production approach to war was obsolete almost as
soon as the dust cleared over Hiroshima, but it had yet to be fully
applied to science (although it was already being applied in some
sectors; see, e.g., Burnham, 1941). In the aftermath of the successes of
the Manhattan Project and other state-funded wartime projects, this
new model of scientific research and production emerged, organized
around “human capital.” Technological change and social innovation
once again came into play in the service of the state.7 Science became
highly institutionalized. Directed research and development became
critical to maintaining the United States’ technological and military
edge over its competitors. Education of the workforce in the intellec-
tual tools and skills of this new world became essential. Education
itself was transformed, as it became clear that traditional rote learn-
ing—reading, writing, and ’rithmetic—was appropriate to creating a
“cannon-fodder” citizenry for the mass armies of world wars I and II,
but would not produce the critically and scientifically trained cadres
needed in this new era of U.S.-directed global management.
In response, over the following decades, the American system of
higher education expanded manyfold. In the 1960s, University of
California President Clark Kerr called the new model the “multiver-
sity”; others ridiculed it as the “educational cafeteria.” No matter;
specializations proliferated. A college degree became a prerequisite to
24 Chapter 2
advancement and mobility out of the working class and into the
“middle” class (aided and abetted in this by the GI Bill, Pell Grants,
and other forms of educational “credit”). And, because intellectual
ability and competence were not distributed by class, race, or gender,
it also became necessary to provide access to these opportunities to
women as well as minorities.8
Finally, just as had been the case in earlier times, the programs
of the leading country were adopted by others (Gerschenkron, 1962;
Crawford, 1995). The growth in numbers of educated cadres was not
limited to the United States, because the American university model
was universalized. Foreigners were encouraged to come to the United
States to acquire the skills and training necessary to rationalize their
own societies and make them more like America.9 Their way and
tuition were often paid by the U.S. government as, for instance, in the
“Atoms for Peace” program. Other countries recognized the prestige
and political benefits inherent in systems of higher education, as well
as their need for trained individuals so that they could compete in this
new global system. They built national university systems, too.
Left to its own devices, the information revolution might have gone
nowhere. Just as in the absence of the impetus of markets and profits,
the steam engine would have remained a curiosity with limited appli-
cation, so were the dynamic of capitalism combined with political and
economic instability required to really get this latest industrial revolu-
tion off the ground. That these elements were necessary to the new
regime of accumulation (if not essential) is best seen in the trajectory
and fate of the Soviet Union. The USSR was able to engineer the first
steps of the transformation and acquire advanced military means com-
parable in most respects to the West’s,10 but eventually it was unable
to engage in the social innovation necessary to reorganize the produc-
tive process and maintain growth rates (Crawford, 1995).
In the United States, the education of cadres of citizens during
the Cold War, the erosion of the political legitimacy of the state, and
public protests during the 1960s were key parts of the process of social
reorganization. The slow decline of American economic dominance
The Worries of Nations 25
was another. The political upheavals of the 1960s had their origins in
the extension of American national interest to all parts of the globe
during the 1940s and 1950s, as well as the growth of higher education.
The expansion of interests meant that specialized knowledge about
foreign societies, and their cultures, politics, and economics, were
essential if the “free world” were to be managed for the benefit of the
United States. The “old boy” banker-lawyer network that had supplied
diplomats and specialist throughout much of the twentieth century
(Barnet, 1973) could no longer meet the demand. The result was a
system dedicated to production of specially trained individuals, who
could deal with foreign affairs and comparative politics, to staff em-
bassies, the State Department, and other agencies, at home and abroad.
And, as I noted above, the emergence of a scientific problem–solving
paradigm as the dominant model for managing of the new global
system also generated the need for large numbers of individuals trained
in a variety of scientific disciplines. Growing numbers of highly skilled
individuals were thus trained, with the expectation that they would
participate in projects addressing social as well as scientific matters.11
But what would happen to these educated elites after college? In
many countries, including the United States, new college graduates
expected to find employment with their own national and state govern-
ments, state-owned and defense-related private industries, or systems
of secondary or higher education. For some decades, there was a bal-
ance between graduates and jobs, supported by relatively steady eco-
nomic growth rates. At some point, however, the supply of competent
individuals began to exceed the official demand for their skills (Arenson,
1998). Moreover, as the failure in Vietnam demonstrated during the
1960s and 1970s, even the government’s mobilization of expertise in
the pursuit of national security objectives did not always turn out
successfully.
One result of the Vietnam fiasco was a serious challenge to the
legitimacy of Cold War politics; another was the breaking open of the
culture of expertise, with all of its hegemonic restrictions on opposi-
tion to the “dominant paradigm” (Barnet, 1973). Competing centers of
expertise, skills, and knowledge began to surface, epitomized in the
global proliferation of “think tanks” and nongovernmental organiza-
tions of the right and left. These centers came to represent a system
of analytical capabilities, knowledge, and practice parallel to that of
26 Chapter 2
to high rates of inflation during the 1970s, came under growing pres-
sure as the 1981–82 recession began to bite, and grew more slowly
between the mid-1970s and mid-1990s than during the 1950s and
1960s—they also commanded lower wages relative to white men.
Moreover, as they acquired heretofore unheard-of purchasing power
women and minorities turned out to be good marketing tools and
consumers for corporations seeking new markets (Elliott, 1997). Alter-
native lifestyles and new family structures became necessary and ac-
ceptable, in part because of social innovation, in part for economic
reasons. As a result, gays and lesbians came out in growing numbers
and they, too, offered an attractive niche market toward which capital
could target new products and services.
By the beginning of the 1980s, this transformation was in full
swing, and so was the reaction against it. The conservatism of Ronald
Reagan and his supporters is best understood as a backlash against the
cultural and social change fostered by social innovation and reorgani-
zation, but it is difficult to argue that the Reaganauts did anything to
slow it down. To the contrary: Reagan’s economic policies were de-
signed to shrink the welfare state and squeeze inflation out of the
economy but they had a quite unintended effect on American society
and the rest of the world. The 1982–83 recession reduced inflation but
was devastating for Rust Belt “metal-bashing” industries—the core of
Fordist production—in the United States and abroad.
Liberalization, deindustrialization, privatization of the state, and
the rise of finance capital actually worked to undermine families. Self-
interest became the sure path to success, and parents and children
were inculcated with a “what’s in it for me?” sensibility. The road to
profit was clearly marked, and did not involve the fostering of any
sense of social or even familial solidarity. Spatial mobility was the key
to upward mobility and, for some, the traditional nuclear family be-
came an albatross. Adam Smith believed in the power of the “invisible
hand,” but he had also expected that religious and social values would
restrain people from uncontrollable self-interest (Coats, 1971, cited in
Hirsch, 1995:137). Smith never reckoned with mass secularization,
rampant consumerism, and the social indifference the morality of the
market might foster.
Pat Buchanan’s “culture war,” declared from the podium of the
Republican National Convention in 1992, should have come as no
28 Chapter 2
surprise to anyone; the conflict had been brewing for years (Lind,
1991; see also Lipschutz, 1998b; Rupert, 1997). What was ironic,
perhaps, was that Buchanan and his colleagues blamed political “lib-
erals,” rather than hyperliberal capitalism, for the problems they saw
destroying American society.12 To have put the blame on the real cause
would have been to reveal to the listening public that the new eco-
nomic system is not—indeed, cannot be—fair to everyone, and that
those who begin with advantages will virtually always retain them
(Hirsch, 1995).13 Admitting such a contradiction would be to repeat
the fatal mistake of Mikhail Gorbachev, when he announced that the
Communist Party of the Soviet Union was no longer the vanguard of
socialist truth: Attack the legitimacy of your social system’s ideology,
and there is no end to the destruction that might follow (Lipschutz,
1998b). It might happen, anyway, if the parallels between today and
Polanyi’s Great Transformation are germane.
There are three notable similarities between the two “transforma-
tions.” First, although it can hardly be said that there was a welfare
state in England in 1800, there did exist various forms of social sup-
port for the poor. These, as Polanyi and others pointed out, served to
depress wages to the benefit of capital and also, it was argued, made
it more attractive for people to go on relief than to work (Himmelfarb,
1995)—arguments that sound eerily familiar today.
Second, the privatization of various forms of public property and
commons, which had also provided a resource buffer for the rural
poor, was deemed necessary to foster wider markets and provide the
labor pool necessary for industrialism to develop. There are not many
peasants left in the United States, but the downsizing and the disman-
tling of the state, and the drive to make corporations meaner, leaner,
and more profitable, have eliminated large parts of the social safety net
and job security, both of which could be thought of as a form of
common-pool property right guaranteed to workers. The result has
been to inject large numbers of college-educated but no longer appro-
priately skilled mid-level, middle-aged managers and civil servants
into what is already a highly competitive labor market. This is a market
in which much job creation is either in the lower-wage service sector
or in areas, such as writing software code, requiring knowledge the
newly unemployed do not possess and could acquire only with great
difficulty and considerable expense.
The Worries of Nations 29
that many) and a global class of the poor (as many as 8 to 10 billion)
will emerge. Many members of the better-off class will reside in what
today we call “developing countries”; a not considerable number of
the poor will live in the “industrialized ones.” If things work out, by
the middle of the twenty-first century we might even see a global
middle class that will provide bourgeois support for this new global
order and, perhaps, demand some form of representative global de-
mocratization (see chapter 8). Then, again, we might not.
What are the implications of these changes for state, society, citizen
and security? The answers to this question are treated in the following
chapters. In one sense, the realist mantra—“The world is a dangerous
place”—is correct. Life is full of risks, and it always ends in death.
There may well be an asteroid somewhere out in space with Earth’s
name written on it. But we should always ask Dangerous for whom?
Perhaps the world is dangerous, especially for those who would ma-
nipulate people and politics in pursuit of individual self-interest. We
see an example of this in another literary classic, a work of fiction
(even though it was not quite meant as a fiction when published in
1962). Toward the end of Eugene Burdick and Harvey Wheeler’s Cold
War novel Fail Safe, the president’s advisor on nuclear strategy, Harvard
professor Walter Groteschele (modeled on Henry Kissinger, among
others), contemplates his prospects after the thermonuclear annihila-
tion of Moscow and New York City (a catastrophe due, in no small
part, to his notions of danger in the world). Foreseeing the likelihood
of an end to the arms race between the two superpowers (whose dan-
ger has made him so prominent and well-off),
Groteschele swung his attention to what his future work would be.
If there were drastic cutbacks in military expenditures many busi-
nesses would be seriously affected; some of them would even be
ruined. A man who understood government and big political move-
ments could make a comfortable living advising the threatened in-
dustries. It was a sound idea, and Groteschele tucked it away in his
mind with a sense of reassurance. (Burdick and Wheeler, 1962:272)
32 Chapter 2
33
34 Chapter 3
The boy or girl next door could cut our throats, as we are told in films
and articles “based on true stories.” Diseases are poised to escape from
disappearing tropical forests, flying out on the next 757, to be depos-
ited in the midst of urban insurrections. Drugs, illegal immigrants, and
terrorists are everywhere. And a few far-sighted individuals (and film
producers) even tell us that, somewhere out in distance space, there is
a comet or asteroid with Earth’s name on it. The universe of threats
seems infinite; the only limit is our imagination (Foster 1994; Kugler,
1995).
Why so many threats? Although a decade has passed since the
“end” of the Cold War, the basic premises of U.S. national security
policy remain uncertain, ill-defined, and contested. Despite the precise
language of President Clinton’s National Security Strategy (1997; see
chapter 4), no consensual agreement on the nature or source of present
or future threats has developed; no comprehensive strategy akin to
containment has emerged; no stable policies regarding force structures
and deployments have been formulated (Levin, 1994). The U.S. de-
fense budget continues to grow, albeit more slowly than in the 1980s,
but who is the target? NATO expands, but who is the enemy? The
world of 170 states on the march against each other is a nostalgic
memory; who or what now threatens to stalk us? And why, even though
we are, in many ways, more secure than we have been for fifty years—
especially with a decline in the probability of large-scale nuclear war—
does the search for security continue, more frantically and, some might
argue, more fruitlessly, than ever? Is it a failure of policy, or a flaw in
reasoning?
We face, in short, an insecurity dilemma. Forty years ago, John
Herz (1959) formulated the idea of the “security dilemma,” a concept
later picked up and further developed by Robert Jervis (1978). Both
argued that many of the ostensibly defensive actions taken by states to
make themselves more secure—development of new military tech-
nologies, accumulation of weapons, mobilization of troops—had the
effect of making neighboring states less secure. There was no way of
knowing whether the intentions behind military deployments were
defensive or offensive; hence, it was better to be safe and assume the
worst. The result was, in many instances, an arms spiral, as each side
tried to match the acquisitions of its neighbor.1 While there were con-
tinual arguments over whether security policy should be based on
The Insecurity Dilemma 35
fifty years. Under fluid conditions such as this, the very act of defining
security becomes the subject of struggle, providing not only access to
material resources and authority but also the opportunity to establish
new boundaries of discourse and research (Thompson, 1979; Lipschutz,
1999a). Those who win the debate win more than just the prize, for
they also get to mark those boundaries. Those who find themselves left
outside have not only lost the game, they have been banished from
politics, made outsiders. They may even become the new enemy.
Ultimately, it would seem, the only boundary that is truly secure is the
one drawn around the self—and even this is open to doubt—which
suggests that security is more than just a material condition, and that
insecurity might just be a fact of life. Such insecurity is not to be
confused with Hobbes’ State of Nature, however; rather, it is a condi-
tion associated with uncertainty, difference, and individuation, as we
shall see.
In this chapter, I address the twin problems of security and inse-
curity. I begin with a discussion of the end of the national security
state, pointing out how U.S. Cold War policy undermined the very
security system meant to protect the West during that period. I then
turn to what I call the “insecurity dilemma” and ask why, if the level
of global threats has diminished, do societies feel so insecure? Pace
Herz, Jervis, and others, the insecurity dilemma arises not from threats
but from difference. In the third section of this chapter, I discuss how
threats are constructed, and by whom. Finally, I conclude by arguing
that we would do better to come to grips with insecurity and difference
than to try to eliminate all those things we believe might threaten us
because they are different and make us feel insecure.
Allison (1971) and John Steinbruner (1974), argued this point more than
twenty-five years ago, articulating theories of “bureaucratic politics,”
“high politics” versus “low politics,” and “cybernetic decision-making,”
in order to explain the resolution of national security crises. A constant
in all of these offerings was, however, that the state was central to the
conceptualization of threats, formulation of responses, and implementa-
tion of security policy. It was also the primary object of that policy.7 In
keeping with the search for universal laws and theories, as proposed by
Hans Morgenthau and others in the discipline, the basic principles were
broadly assumed to be true over both space and time.
Yet, if we look at the state as an institution that has changed over
time, and continues to change, we discover that such formulations obscure
more than they reveal. Today’s “Great Powers” often have the same names
as those of a century ago, and they are located in more-or-less the same
places (although a few have shifted eastward or westward). We would
nonetheless be hard put to argue that, in spite of historical and geographic
continuity, they are the same. Changes have taken place not only in do-
mestic politics and the external environment, but also in the relationship
between citizen and state and in the very constitution and identity of the
citizen herself (Drainville, 1995; Gill, 1995). Such changes fundamentally
alter both the national and international political environments in which
state, society, and self exist, thereby rendering most discussions of
“redefining security” almost beside the point.8
What is lacking in these old and new analytical frameworks? To
repeat a point made earlier, conventional perspectives on national se-
curity ignore a critical existential factor: The state, as well as the
threats it faces and the security policies that result, are mental as well
as material constructs (Buzan, 1991; Lipschutz, 1989). That is to say,
the reproduction of the intellectual and emotional logics of the state
and its need for security against “enemies” is as important to national
security as the production of the technology, soldiers, and military
hardware that are meant to provide the physical infrastructure of pro-
tection (Huntington, 1997). As the collapse of the Soviet Union indi-
cated, even a materially powerful and evidently secure state can be
undermined if the mental constructs supporting it come under sus-
tained pressure, both domestic and international (Crawford, 1995).
Indeed, it might be that, of all types of states extant in the world, it is
the national security state that is most likely to be affected by the
erosion of these nonmaterial constructs.
40 Chapter 3
What, then, is the national security state (NSS)? The NSS is best
understood as a particular type of institution whose origins are found
in the logics of the Industrial Revolution and the Social Darwinist
geopolitics of the late nineteenth century. Through these two episte-
mological frameworks, the consolidation of geographically contiguous
territories and the integration of societies within those territories be-
came the sine qua non of national power and survival. The founders
of national security states were animated by two overriding motiva-
tions. First, they directly correlated national power with the domina-
tion of resources, territory, people, and violence; second, they directly
correlated national power with a state-directed project of industrializa-
tion, nationalism, and social welfare. The NSS was premised further
on a world of external threats—almost always state-centered in ori-
gin—directed against national autonomy and territory, from which the
nation must be defended. The interests of state and citizen (and cor-
porate actors, as well) were thereby seen to coincide, even in the
economic and cultural spheres (Lipschutz, 1989: ch. 5).
This process of national consolidation was neither quick nor
simple. National states emerged only very slowly out of the monar-
chies and empires of the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, and
they were constantly opposed and suppressed, as evidenced in the
Congress of Vienna in 1815 and the counterrevolutions of 1848 and
1872. But the idea of the nation-state—an autonomous entity that
contained within itself all those who met specified (and largely con-
structed) ascriptive requirements and excluded or assimilated those
who did not (Brown, 1992)—proved more powerful in the longer run.
To protect against revanchism and reaction, however, it was also nec-
essary for states to develop military capabilities.
By the end of the nineteenth century, moreover, it was clearly in
the strategic interest of some nation-states that other territorial entities
become nation-states, too. This would reduce the dominance of the
European empires as well as the economic potential inherent, if not
realized, in control of extensive territories. It would also transfer power
to the more capital-intensive and concentrated nation-state (capital
intensive in terms of both “human capital” and finance). It can be said
fairly that the NSS reached its apogee during World War II, with total
social and industrial mobilization by both Allied and Axis coalitions;
even during the first decades of the Cold War, the two superpowers
The Insecurity Dilemma 41
(see chapter 7). While such discipline was, quite clearly, much harsher
on the Soviet side of the East-West divide, it was not wholly unknown
in the West. By opting for autarky and authoritarianism, and an economy
whose main customer was the state rather than the consumer, the
Soviet approach made the task of social control that much easier (al-
though more visible and generative of resistance).
The United States, pursuing liberal economic and political orga-
nization, focused on individual well-being at home and state power
abroad. This made social discipline more difficult, because it was
premised on a particular type of mental and material conformity that
penalized aberrant thoughts and practices through social ridicule and
rejection, rather than on an outright totalitarianism that rewarded dis-
sidence with prison or exile. People whose behavior went beyond
accepted limits were tagged as Communists or social deviants, and
offered the opportunity to rejoin the community only if they would
recant their heretical beliefs. Many did. Those who didn’t were labeled
“un-American” and blacklisted. This system of social discipline began
to break down in the 1960s, but it has only been seriously undermined
during the past two decades as hyperliberal tendencies have begun to
bite deeply into American society (Hirsch, 1995; Barber, 1995).
The result of hyperliberalism has been a squeeze on labor and the
privileging of capital.10 Gradually, the squeeze has been extended from
the blue-collar to the white-collar workforce, as well as the military and
defense sectors, with successive “downsizings” and mergers among
corporations, as they struggle to reduce costs, improve balance sheets
and maintain share value (Nasar, 1994; Edmunds, 1996; Uchitelle, 1998).
By now, whether or not it is statistically correct, there is a widespread
perception within major segments of the American labor force that no
forms of employment are secure (Uchitelle, 1994; Marshall, 1995a; New
York Times, 1996). Policymakers and academics such as Robert Reich
(1992: part II) argue that “symbolic analysts,” the production workers of
the information age, are secure for the future; the reality is that new
information technologies may make many of them redundant, too.11
Even as the U.S. economy continues to grow, so do the conditions for
alienation, atomization, and social disintegration.
The impacts of this change are visible in efforts to rediscipline
society. Thus, policymakers struggle to find new threats and define
new visions, strategies, and policies for making the world “more se-
The Insecurity Dilemma 45
cure.” People, losing faith in their leaders and the state, take things
into their own hands. Gated communities proliferate in order to keep
out the chaos. The privitization of security continues apace and be-
comes another realm of commodification. Conservative disciplining of
liberals and gays mounts. And the most popular television and film
“true-life” stories and newscasts inform us just how insecure each of
us should really feel. In a perverse inversion of Herz and Jervis, the
national security state is brought down to the level of the household,
and each one arms itself against the security dilemma posed by its
neighbor across the hedge or fence.
replied, “I would say it was very, very close to the top.” Another
witness warned that failure to prepare for such attacks could result in
“an electronic Pearl Harbor” (U.S. Senate, 1996). None of the wit-
nesses noted that most computer network breakdowns have, so far,
been directly attributable to snafus in hardware and software.13
Of particular interest here are the content and implications of the
language used to frame the dangers of information warfare. Deutch
and his colleagues compare an incident with a fairly selective class
impact, which would affect those tied into long-distance cyberspace
systems, with two of the best-known images of war from the past fifty
years, suggesting a quite improbable degree of disruption and destruc-
tion. While neither Pearl Harbor nor Hiroshima led to national de-
struction, the image of a “bolt from the blue,” drawn from nuclear war
discourses, certainly suggests such a possibility.
Deutch’s testimony raises a further set of questions: If so-called
international terrorists can use simple means to attack the information
infrastructure, why have they not done so? Where are the nuclear
suitcase bombs? Who has spread radiation and bacteria over American
cities? When has anyone put drugs and poisons in urban water sup-
plies? And, against whom would the United State retaliate should such
incidents occur? There is a not-so-subtle implication in Deutch’s state-
ment that the United States—perhaps through the National Security
Agency—is itself capable of conducting information attacks, and has
practiced them. This, in turn, suggests self-induced fears generated by
projecting U.S. national capabilities onto imagined others (see below).
Ironically, Deutch’s warnings of “hackers” remind us that villians might
also be the boy or girl upstairs or next door or down the road!
Such rhetorical tactics are hardly new or innovative; Deutch’s
objective is to mobilize legislators into action “by scaring the hell out
of them,” as Senator Arthur Vandenburg counseled President Truman
to do in 1947. As well, the broadening of national security language
to encompass a wide range of social issues and problems has a long
history. In the 1950s, education, health, and highways were brought
under the “National Defense” blanket. During the 1980s, all manner of
commercial research and development were deemed essential to na-
tional security. But what is missing from pronouncements such as
Deutch’s is a conviction that all Americans are exposed equally to
information warfare. The truth is that, although the American economy
48 Chapter 3
None of this means that threats do not exist, or that these particular
matters could not do substantial damage to U.S. society, if realized as
imagined. Rather, it is to point out that imagination sets no limits to the
threats we might conjure up. As David Campbell (1992:2) argues,
Finally, although they might only be imagined, even threats that never
come to pass can still have real, material consequences if they are
treated as though they were real and imminent. And such treatments
can be only too deadly. The weapons sent to the Siad Barre regime in
Somalia during the late 1970s and 1980s were intended to counter an
imagined Soviet “resource war” in the Horn of Africa (Lipschutz,
1989), but they proved quite enough to kill Americans and Somalis
alike during the 1990s.
Two consequences follow from the production of a world of
imagined threats. The first is that particular social issues may be recast
in militarized terms. Thus, although the consumption of drugs within
American society has domestic social and economic roots, the “war on
drugs” is conducted largely within a military mind-set that turns par-
ents and teachers into soldiers, children into threatened civilians, and
inner-city residents into enemies (Campbell, 1992: chap. 7; see also
Massing, 1998).
The second consequence is that the long arm of the state’s secu-
rity apparatus is extended into those realms of everyday life that oth-
erwise might be considered to be insulated from it (Gill, 1995). Consider
U.S. laws that permit the government to examine the personal and
professional lives of air travelers as a means of finding individuals
whose personality profiles match those of putative “terrorists” (Broeder,
1996), or the militarization of urban police departments as part of a
“war on crime” (Gaura and Wallace, 1997). All individuals, whether
The Insecurity Dilemma 51
(as George Kennan did in the Long Telegram of 1946). The most
available frames are those already widely accepted. QED. If this is so,
then we must also ask: “Who defines security?” Who proposes how
the elements of national power should be mobilized, and to what end?
Who has the legitimacy and power to make such proposals? Who is
engaged in the social construction of threats and security policy? And
how are those ideas disseminated and, finally, realized?16
The fundamental assumption underlying many discussions of
“security” is that the creation and propogation of security discourses
falls within the purview of certain authorized individuals and groups
within a state’s institutions. They possess not only the legitimate right
to define what constitutes a threat to security, but also to specify which
definitions of threat and security will be legitimate. Generally speak-
ing, such individuals and groups are assumed to be aware of:
In intervening in this way, the tools applied by the state look very
much like those used during the wars the state might launch if it chose
to do so.21 Definitions and practices of security consequently emerge
and change as a result of discourses and discursive actions intended to
reproduce historical structures and subjects within states and among
them (Banerjee, 1991).
Who are these security elites? That is, who “constructs” threats
and makes security policy? As far as the process of making security
is concerned, there are three potentially different answers. First, we
can point to those individuals (or groups, interests, or classes; it doesn’t
really matter which) responsible for overseeing the power of the state
(e.g., the military, defense analysts in and out of government, etc.).
Second, there are those responsible for overseeing the institutions of
the state (policymakers, legislative representatives, bureaucrats). Fi-
nally, there are those responsible for overseeing the idea of the state
(heads of state, leaders, national heroes or symbols, teachers, religious
figures, etc.; see Buzan, 1991). Each of these groups may conceive of
security somewhat differently, and they may intrude on each other’s
turf, but under “normal” conditions, there is little or no basic disagree-
ment among them about the amount of security required.
In a cohesive, conceptually robust state, a broadly accepted
definition of both national identity and the security speech acts needed
to freeze that identity is developed and reinforced by each of these
three groups as a form of Gramscian hegemony. Each group, in turn,
contributes to the discourses that maintain that conventional wisdom.
54 Chapter 3
The authority and power of these groups, acting for and within the
state, is marshaled against putative threats, both internal and external.
The institutions of the state oversee policies directed against these
threats, and the specific “idea” of the state—and identity of its citi-
zens—comes to be reinforced in terms of, first, how the state stands
and acts in relation to those threats and, second, the way those respon-
sible for maintenance of the idea (through socialization) communicate
this relationship. The outcome is a generally accepted authorized (by
authorities) consensus on what is to be protected, the means through
which this is to be accomplished, and the consequences if such actions
are not taken.
Such a consensus is by no means immutable. Things change. A
catastrophe can undermine a consensual national epistemology, as in
the case of Germany and Japan after World War II. But it is also
possible that what might appear to others to be a disaster, for example,
Iraq’s defeat in 1991, can also provide an opportunity for reinforce-
ment of that epistemology, as has been apparent in Iraq since 1991.
The systemic changes discussed earlier can also undermine consensus,
although much more slowly. Domestic and external forces can act so
as to chip away or splinter hegemonic discourses by undermining the
ideational and material bases essential to their maintenance and the
authority of those who profess them. If there is some question about
the legitimacy of the state and its institutions, or the validity of its
authority, those in positions of discursive power may decide to
rearticulate the relationship between citizen identity and state idea.
Russian president Yeltsin’s (unsuccessful) search for a new “national
idea” is an example of this. Another involves the restoration or refur-
bishment of old epistemologies (as in “despite the end of the Cold
War, the world remains a dangerous place; therefore rely on our judge-
ment which so often before has proved valid”).
To put my point another way, a consensual conception of secu-
rity is stable only so long as people have a vested interest in the
maintenance of that particular conception of security. If social change
undermines the basis for this conception—for example, by diminish-
ing the individual welfare of many people, by making the conception
seem so remote as to be irrelevant, by forgetting the civic behaviors
that once reminded everyone about that conception—consensus can
and will break down. This may happen, as well, if a particular concept
The Insecurity Dilemma 55
are reminded by conspiracy theories about the New World Order, black
helicopters, and UN forces in Canada, some discursive frames can
decompose the formerly linked security of state and people (Lipschutz,
1998b).
To return to an earlier question: Who constructs and articulates
contesting discourses of national security? Among such people are
mainstream “defense intellectuals” and strategic analysts, those indi-
viduals who, sharing a certain political culture, can agree on a com-
mon framework for defining security threats and policy responses (what
might be called a security “episteme”). While their discourse is con-
structed around the interpretation of “real” incoming data, their analy-
sis is framed in such a way as to, first, define the threat as they see it
and, second, legitimate those responses that validate their construction
of the threat (see, e.g., Schlesinger, 1991). To repeat: this does not
mean that threats are imaginary. Rather, they are imagined and con-
structed in such a way as to reinforce existing predispositions and
thereby legitimate them. This legitimation, in turn, helps to reproduce
existing policy or some variant of it as well as the material basis for
that policy.
Finally, we might ask why “redefine security?” Who advocates
such an idea? During the 1980s, at the time this argument was first
made (Ullman, 1983; Mathews, 1989), the individuals comprising this
group were an amorphous lot, lacking an integrated institutional base
or intellectual framework (a situation that has slowly changed during
the 1990s). Most tended to see consensual definitions and dominant
discourses of security as failing to properly perceive or understand the
objective threat environment, but they did not question the logic whereby
threats and security were defined. In other words, the redefiners pro-
posed that the “real” threats to security were different from those that
policymakers and defense authorities were generally concerned about,
but that the threats were “really out there.”
The redefiners argued further that the failure to recognize real
threats could have two serious consequences: First, it might underminine
state legitimacy, inasmuch as a national defense that did not serve to
protect or enhance the general welfare (which is what “security” often
comes to mean) would lose public support. Second, it would repro-
duce a response system whose costs would increasingly outweigh
benefits. At the same time, however, the redefiners did not propose a
The Insecurity Dilemma 57
In the most basic sense, what the American people have to deal
with when they adjust to the world outside U.S. frontiers is 170
[sic] assorted nation-states, each in control of a certain amount of
the earth’s territory. These 170 nations, being sovereign, are able
to reach decisions on the use of armed forces under their
government’s control. They can decide to attack other nations.
(Hartmann and Wendzel, 1988:3–4)
By 1989, it appeared that the roster of states had been fixed, the books
closed for good. Only Antarctica remained an unresolved puzzle, where
international agreements put overlapping national claims into indefinite
abeyance. There were many “international” borders, to be sure, but
these were understood to be fixed in number and location, inscribed in
stone and on paper. States might draw imaginary lines, or “bordoids,”
as Bruce Larkin (forthcoming) has stylized them, defining and encom-
passing “national interests” beyond their borders. They might extend
their borders in a somewhat hypothetical fashion in order to bring
allies into the sphere of blessedness, as in practice of extended deter-
rence in Europe. They might effectively take over the machinery of
other states, as in Central America and Central Asia, even as they paid
obeisance to the sacred lines on the ground, claiming to be protecting
the sovereignty of the fortunate victim. Enemies and threats were,
however, always across the line.
Is it the lines themselves that are the problem? If so, this suggests
that security discourse irreducibly invokes the authority of borders and
boundaries, rather than their physical or imagined presence, for its
power. Borders and boundaries presume categories of things, be they
The Insecurity Dilemma 59
Conclusion
Whatever happened to World War III? For almost forty years, two
great military alliances faced off across a line drawn through the cen-
ter of a middling-sized peninsula, ready to destroy the world at a
moment’s notice in order to save it. John Lewis Gaddis (1987) called
this time the “Long Peace,” Mary Kaldor (1990), “the imaginary war.”1
When it was over, a few sentimentalists warned that we would soon
miss it, and tried to tell us why (Mearsheimer, 1990a, 1990b). For
many—especially the 20 or 30 million who died in Third World wars—
the violence was only too real. For other billions, there was a peace
of sorts, purchased only at great cost (Schwartz, 1998) and perpetual
terror. For the United States and its allies, it was a time of great
opportunity and prosperity. The 10 trillion or more dollars expended
on the Long Peace brought a period of unprecedented economic growth
and wealth. Affluence, it often seemed, was possible only with arms.
But even imagined wars must end (Iklé, 1971). Those that exist
in the fevered fantasies of war gamers and war-game writers can con-
tinue on computer monitors everywhere but, after a time, those played
63
64 Chapter 4
Imagined Wars
But, do not get too excited; Clinton also warned darkly that
politicians (if not voters). Yet, as we were warned when NATO began
to bomb Yugoslavia, if we do not prepare for such wars, or shift our
attention to “not-wars,” aggressors (recalling Munich) will act aggres-
sively against us.
Virtual Nukes
of speech that reduces the apocalyptic act to a mundane one (as docu-
mented by Robert Scheer (1982) in With Enough Shovels and Steven
Kull (1988) in Minds at War; the original effort in this direction is
Kahn, 1965). How else is one to explain pronouncements such as that
made by then-secretary of defense Caspar Weinberger (1982), who
argued in 1982 testimony before the Senate Foreign Relations Com-
mittee that
start to fall. That much is clear from Iraqi behavior prior to, during and
after the Gulf War (and, more recently, by Yugoslavia’s), although it
is a lesson yet to be learned by U.S. policymakers. Furthermore, ra-
tionality and irrationality, sanity and insanity might not even be the
appropriate concepts to apply to this case. Assuming either rationality
or irrationality (and nothing else) disregards questions of deep causal-
ity in explaining the onset of wars, ignores what is clearly a result of
problematic histories of relations among and within states, and at-
tributes events as they inexplicably occur to factors beyond anyone’s
control (e.g, faulty genes, chemical imbalances, or Comet Hale-Bopp).
Other causal processes simply drop out.
This assumption of rationality—that a commitment of force (and the
threat of escalation) deters a rational opponent—was, nevertheless, central
to the Carter administration’s original “Rapid Deployment Force” (RDF)
later configured into the “Central Command” (CC) under General Norman
Schwarzkopf. It was, as well, the theory behind the military buildup prior
to the four-day war of January 1991. It remains the logic behind U.S.
disciplining of Iraq and others. Here, however, the conflation of nuclear
and conventional discipline becomes truly problematic.
The original purpose of the RDF/CC was to deter the Soviet
Union from launching an attack through Iran toward the Gulf. In that
imagined future, the RDF/CC was to have functioned as a tripwire (the
same function filled by the 300,000 U.S. troops then in Western Eu-
rope) whose triggering would lead to the use of nuclear weapons.
Working backward, then, it was the threat of imagined nuclear war that
would secure American interests in the Gulf and serve to prevent the
Soviets from initiating such an attack (but see Clancy, 1987). Accord-
ing to this logic, therefore, the threat to send military forces to oust
Iraq from Kuwait should have been sufficient to accomplish that end.
This latter theory was tested and found wanting because it relied on
nuclear threats backed up by virtual forces, and not conventional threats
backed up by material ones. That the Gulf tripwire was never intended
to be a “real” threat was originally indicated by the fact that the Cen-
tral Command existed only on paper and could never have made it to
the Gulf in time to become a nuclear sacrifice to Soviet aggression.
Here, then, was the flaw that is to be studiously avoided by the
MRC/MTW strategy. To make credible a threat to deploy and defeat
an opponent, not only must the United States have the capability to
Arms and Affluence 77
Disciplinary Warfare
This leaves us with one remaining question: Is the Gulf War the arche-
type of future wars? Are the electronic battlefields of the MRC/MTWs
plausible? Or do they simply provide a distraction from lower-inten-
sity, higher-probability conflicts that are so much more difficult to
prevent or resolve? From this latter perspective, the wars in Chechnya,
the Balkans, Central Africa, and elsewhere might be more appropriate
as models, especially if predictions of continuing national fragmenta-
tion are borne out (see chapter 6). From a techno-warrior’s point of
view, however, Chechnya-like wars are of little interest and no conse-
quence. Combatants engaged in block-by-block urban combat, using
assault rifles, bazookas, and artillery of ancient provenance (relatively
speaking) are at high risk of injury or death. Such wars are messy,
difficult to orchestrate, and notoriously hard on weapons engineered
with high-precision mechanics and fancy electronics. Moreover, the
possibility of American involvement in such postmodern struggles—
even in a peace-keeping capacity—always appears to be an occasion
for policymakers to run for cover.
Postmodern warfare is, consequently, regarded by industrialized
country foreign ministries and militaries mostly as a nuisance; it is the
high-tech stuff that is sexy and porky. But, because “real” war is costly
and messy, it has become necessary to find a means of managing
wayward parties who fall out of line and violate the principles of a
78 Chapter 4
world order whose form and rules are not always so clear. So, even as
neighbors in far-away countries slaughter each other with clubs and
machetes, the tools of future wars between the United States and
unpredictable aggressors are on display in Time, Newsweek, The Econo-
mist, and on CNN. I call this disciplinary deterrence.
Disciplinary deterrence is executed through demonstration, through
publicity, through punishment. It is a means of engaging in war with-
out the discomforts or dangers of battle. It relies on imagined rather
than actual warfare, on the dissemination of detailed information about
military capabilities rather than on their actual exercise in combat, on
the proliferation of the image rather than the application of capabili-
ties. It is a child of the media age, taking advantage of rapid commu-
nication and virtual simulations that look all too real. It communicates
a none-too-subtle message to potential miscreants. Finally, in its appli-
cation to Iraq and more recently, Yugoslavia, disciplinary deterrence
warns others to stay in line (see chapter 7). There are other benefits to
be had from disciplinary deterrence, too. Expenditures on high-tech
equipment and strategies bolster local economies in important con-
gressional districts while reducing the demand for combat forces (see
Rochlin, 1997: chaps. 8–10; Kotz, 1988).
For the United States, the costs of disciplinary deterrence are
relatively low. The military equipment is in hand, because the defense
sector cannot be downsized any further without serious political costs.
Those in charge of the communications infrastructure, both military
and civilian, are only too happy to report on the amazing feats of
which the technology is capable (even if the information offered is
not always correct). And the elites of all countries—even “rogue
states”—pay close attention to CNN and other media outlets in order
to keep up with cultural and political attitudes and activities in the
United States.
The required publicity about the technology (although not about
tactics or intelligence) illustrates an emerging paradox associated with
disciplinary deterrence and warfare: Whereas countries once tried to
keep their military capabilities a secret, so as not to alert or alarm real
or potential enemies, it has now become common practice to reveal
such capabilities, in order to spread fear and foster caution. A typical
example of this can be found in advertisements that regularly appear
in The Economist. These are, presumably, read by elites and militaries
Arms and Affluence 79
the world over. Northrop Grumman tells the reader about “information
warfare . . . the ability to exploit, deceive and disrupt adversary infor-
mation systems while simultaneously protecting our own. Example:
EA-6B Prowler” (emphasis in original).
Continues the advertisement
In the future, conflicts will be resolved with information as well
as hardware. Northrop Grumman has the capability to create and
integrate advanced Information Warfare technologies, such as
electronic countermeasures and sensors. Northrop Grumann. Sys-
tems integration, defense electronics, military aircraft, precision
weapons, commercial and military aerostructures. The right tech-
nologies. Right now.
W(h)ither War?
World War III has come and gone. Some of us didn’t even notice. Yet
its implements are still with us. Indeed, inasmuch as their production
is essential to the economies of many countries, they continue to pro-
liferate at an accelerating rate. What is the purpose of such weapons,
if not to wage shooting wars? War is costly in terms of lives lost and
capital destroyed, but peace has its own costs in terms of politics and
power. Interstate wars will come and go, no doubt, but not nearly as
often as some might believe. Still, the true believers can argue that the
absence of such conflicts after the Gulf War of 1991 is proof positive
that deterrence “works” and that the electronic battlefield, even when
restricted to computer and TV screens, will help to “keep the peace.”
But postmodern war is not about the borders between states or
even imaginary civilizations; as I proposed in chapter 3, it is about
those difficult-to-see boundaries between and among individuals and
groups. Who draws these lines? Who makes them significant? If they
cannot be mapped, how can they be controlled? And what about the
wars wracking so many far-away places? As we shall see in subse-
quent chapters, war as a disciplinary exercise is not limited to the
international realm or those living in “failed states”; it includes in its
application those at home, too.
5❖
MARKETS, THE STATE, AND WAR
the Middle East is the likeliest crucible for future water wars. A
long-term settlement between Israel and its neighbors will depend
83
84 Chapter 5
may be incalculable. This move, argues the Bank, will lead to the
assumption of water’s “proper place as an economically valued and
traded commodity” which, in turn, will result in efficient and sustain-
able use through technologies of conservation. As the author of the
Economist article puts it (with no sense of irony whatsoever), “the
time is coming when water must be treated as a valuable resource, like
oil, not a free one like air.” Not, perhaps, an ideal parallel—especially
insofar as the Persian Gulf War was more about the political impacts
of oil prices than absolute supply (Lipschutz, 1992a, 1992b)—but the
point is well taken: it is probably better to truck and barter in natural
resources than it is to fight for them—if these are the only choices
available.
The Bank’s program for peace is based, of course, on a neoliberal
economic framework; indeed, recalling the injunction of Franklin
Roosevelt’s secretary of state, Cordell Hull, one might say “if water
does not cross borders, soldiers will.” Trade is offered here as the
solution to imagined wars, as a way to prevent conflicts that threaten
but have not yet (and might never) occur.5 Yet, is it not conceivable
that prognostications that predict water wars could drive the contend-
ing parties to another form of market-based exchange—in weapons—
thereby heightening tension among them and bringing the prophecy to
fulfillment? Or is it true that discourses do not kill people; people kill
people?
In this chapter, I examine the prospect of “resource wars,” a topic
often framed as “environment and security” or “conflict and the envi-
ronment” (see, e.g., Gleditsch, 1997). I first present an exegesis of the
“nature of sovereignty and the sovereignty of nature,” with particular
reference to geopolitical discourses of sovereignty, scarcity, and secu-
rity offered from the late nineteenth to the late twentieth century. I
begin with a brief examination of the ideas of the classical geopolitical
scholars—Mahan, Mackinder, Spykman, Gray—and the ways in which
they sought to naturalize the relationship between geography and state
power in order to legitimate efforts to redress scarcity through military
means.
I then turn to a discussion of sovereignty and property. I argue
that sovereignty is best understood as a mode of exclusion, as a way
to draw boundaries and establish rights of property against those who
would transgress against the sovereign state. Paradoxically, perhaps,
86 Chapter 5
To give some of these scholars their due, not all treated geography as
so fully binding on state autonomy and action. Halford Mackinder
(1919/1962), an Englishman, was initially less of a geopolitical deter-
minist than the American Spykman (1942; 1944). But World War II
hardened the views of both, inasmuch as Germany’s efforts to expand
appeared to vindicate Mackinder’s dictum about “heartland” and
“rimland” powers (a dialectic later picked up by Colin Gray).8 Follow-
ing World War II, a more vulgar geopolitical determinism came to
dominate much realist theorizing as well as foreign policy analysis
(Lipschutz, 1989; Dalby, 1990), rooted in no small degree in the sen-
timents of George Kennan’s “Long Telegram” (Gaddis, 1982).
Such determinism became a routine part of every document to
emerge from U.S. councils of strategy and counsels of war. A not
untypical example can be found in NSC 94, “The Position of the
United States with Respect to the Philippines”:
and sibling studies seem to suggest that society and environment are
at best minor contributors to that potential, with the result that, in
effect, one is already of the “elect” at birth (so one would do well to
be careful in choosing one’s parents; Dahlem Workshop, 1993; but see
also Harris, 1998).
As is true with geography and the state, an individual’s “natural”
inheritance is critical to that person’s development. But the ways in
which this particular (and not terribly innovative) insight is being used
politically are rather alarming.11 In particular, genetic determinism is
helping to reinstantiate a vulgar Hobbesian-genetic “war of all against
all,” in which the individual has no one to blame but herself for anything
that might befall her in the marketplace of life. Inasmuch as the state has
been banished from this realm (except as a declining source of research
funds), there is no one to turn to for protection against predation by
others with superior genetic endowments or sufficient cash (Hanley,
1996). Another version of this ideology extrapolates natural inheritance
back to race and ethnicity, arguing that society has no responsibility to
redress historical inequities inasmuch as these are largely genetic in
origin. Again, it is sink or swim in the genetic marketplace.
In this world of hyperliberal Nature, as a result, a new form of
sovereignty accrues to the individual. Here, control is exercised by those
with good genes—which are scarce—or those who have the wealth to
acquire them via the purchase of new medical techniques. Because in
the marketplace, wealth is power, money is also the key to preventing
oneself from being contaminated by “bad” genes carried by the poor, the
ill, the defective, or the alien. Such quality is transmitted, of course, into
one’s offspring. As with classical geopolitics, the naturalized discourse
of genetics follows the dominant ideology of the day and, in some of its
more extreme expressions, involves an almost complete move of the
“natural rights” associated with sovereignty from the state to the indi-
vidual. The result is that sovereignty as an attribute of the state is dis-
integrating in both material and ideational terms.
Onuf (1989:166) points out that “States are granted just those proper-
ties that liberalism grants to individuals,” among which are real estate,
or property (this is easier to understand if we recall that, for the origi-
nal sovereigns of the seventeenth century, states were property; see
Elias, 1994). In a liberal system, individuals holding property are entitled
to use it in any fashion except that which is deemed harmful to the
interests or welfare of the community (Libecap, 1989; Ruggie, 1993).
Indeed, this is precisely the wording of Principle 21 of the Stockholm
Declaration: States have the right to exploit their own resources so
long as this does not impact on the sovereignty of other states by
constituting an illegal intrusion into the jurisdictional space of other
states.12 What this implies, therefore, is not only that sovereignty over
property is important, so also are the boundaries constituting property.
Inside the boundaries of property, the state, like the individual land-
owner, is free from “dependence on the will of others”; outside the
boundaries, it is not. That, at least, is the theory.
Practice is quite different. The individual property owner finds
her sovereignty not only hedged about with restrictions but also sub-
ject to frequent intrusion due to others’ wills. Indeed, the state has the
prerogative of violating the sovereignty of individual private property
in any number of settings and ways. These can range from investiga-
tions into the commission of crimes on, in, or through the use of
specific personal or real property, to the creation of public rights-of-
way for highways, pipelines, and communication cables, to the taking
of property in the greater social “interest”—subject, of course, to just
compensation (markets are involved only so far as setting the “value”
of the property is concerned). In these situations, an owner of affected
Markets, the State, and War 93
property has little recourse except to courts (or rebellion). Such is the
power of law.
The state, by contrast, has freed itself from such legal niceties
through the fictions of international “anarchy” and “self-help,” which
comprise the essential elements of the doctrine we call realism. This
permits the state to physically resist violations of its property, on the
one hand, while declaring a national “interest” in violating the prop-
erty of (usually) weaker states, on the other. Realism and national
interests legitimate a state’s right to transgress boundaries, notwith-
standing the Stockholm declaration and other international laws of a
similar bent.
For reasons that are beyond the scope of this chapter, egregious
physical violations of territorial property and sovereignty are increas-
ingly frowned on (Jackson, 1990). This has not, however, led to a dimi-
nution in violations of sovereignty; it simply means that such violations
are legitimated under other names or processes (Inayatullah, 1996). Recall,
for example, that the distribution of resources among states is uneven,
a condition often blamed on Nature and geography, with the result that
one state finds itself needing to acquire such resources through interac-
tion with another. This state of affairs is sometimes characterized as
ecological interdependence, a situation whereby state borders, charac-
terized as “natural” under sovereignty and anarchy, fail to correspond to
those of physical and biological nature (Lipschutz and Conca, 1993). It
is the tension between the sovereignty of Territory and the sovereignty
of Nature that sets up the basis for problems such as “water wars” in the
first place. Below, I will examine the concept of ecological interdepen-
dence more closely; here, I only point out that, while it is often taken
to describe a physical phenomenon—the existence of ecological phe-
nomena or ecosystems extending across national borders—the term may
actually serve to obscure relations of domination and subordination
between the states in question.13
As the Nazi finance minister, Count von Krosigk, put it in 1935,
If we fail to obtain through larger exports the larger imports of
foreign raw materials required for our greatly increased domestic
employment, then two courses only are open to us, increased
home production or the demand for a share in districts from which
we can get our raw materials ourselves. (Quoted in Royal Insti-
tute of International Affairs, 1936)
94 Chapter 5
if I give you my money, so that you can buy food, I will have less
and will not be able to live the way to which I am accustomed.
This will lessen me. In doing this, I will also acknowledge a
relationship with you that infringes on me and even acknowl-
edges my obligations to you. If I do this, then I will not be who
I have been because I will have yielded some of my autonomy to
you. Moreover, because you have no money, you cannot buy from
me; and because I have as much as I need, I don’t have to buy
from you. Hence, I can remain sovereign and strong.
Or
If we give you our water, so that you can grow food, we will have
less and will not be able to live the way in which we have been
Markets, the State, and War 97
fense and free markets, and to the individual level, in the name of
human rights and exchange in the market. The first move constrained
states from asserting too strongly their autonomy and defecting from
the Free World by offering them increased wealth and the threat of
helplessness if they tried to defect. The second strengthened the bonds
of interest between the Free World, as an emergent natural community,
and sovereign individuals by offering the same.
Conditions within this Free World economic area did not consti-
tute “interdependence” as that concept was eventually articulated; rather,
they were a manifestation of the Gramscian hegemony of the United
States (Augelli and Murphy, 1988; Gill, 1993). The geopolitical dis-
course developed during the 1970s and 1980s to explain the conditions
of the 1950s and 1960s invoked “hegemonic stability theory” to ex-
plain why this condition was good and right (Kindleberger, 1973;
Gilpin, 1981; Keohane, 1984; Kennedy, 1988). It is helpful to jump
ahead of our story for a moment to consider the “double hermeneutic”
of hegemony.17 Originally, the concept was formulated as a term of
socialist opprobrium, and used primarily by the Peoples’ Republic of
China against both the United States and the USSR, but during the
period between about 1975 and 1988, which corresponded to the pe-
riod of generalized worries about American decline (Kennedy, 1988;
Nye, 1990), hegemony was naturalized and given positive attributes.
A “hegemon” now became a state destined for power and domi-
nance as a result of the “natural” cycles of history and global political
economy, and that took on the burdens of global economic and politi-
cal management under anarchy (a description that, quite logically, fit
the United States; see, e.g., Goldstein, 1988). The hegemon did this
through the establishment of international regimes (Krasner, 1983)
and, in so doing, served not only its own interests, first and foremost,
but also those of allied countries, who were nonetheless free-riding on
the hegemon. Under the skillful hands of non-Marxist scholars of
international political economy (Gilpin, 1981), domination was thereby
transmuted into a kind of benevolent stewardship—although some of
these same scholars worried about what might happen to this particu-
lar world order “After Hegemony” (Keohane, 1984). The free riders,
however, failed to appreciate the benefits and their good fortune in
acquiescing to U.S. “leadership” (Strange, 1983) and, Americans ar-
gued, their reluctance to share the burden played a major role in the
Markets, the State, and War 99
political disorder of the 1970s and the renewed Soviet threat during of
the 1980s. Ungrateful wretches! The United States—the champion and
protector of naturally free men [sic] and markets—had only the best
interests of its allies in mind when it manipulated, disciplined, or
coerced them.
“Interdependence theory,” most closely associated with Robert
O. Keohane and Joseph S. Nye Jr., was an academic product of the
times (the 1970s) and its politics (the energy crisis), rather than an
“objective” description or model of “reality.” On the one hand, inter-
dependence theory tried to account for what seemed to be the end of
American hegemony over the Free World, after the dollar devalua-
tions, the end of dollar convertibility to gold, and the oil embargo of
the early 1970s. On the other hand, it sought to justify certain policies
and actions that might otherwise be politically unpopular at home and
abroad. But, whereas hegemony theory derived in large part from
realism, interdependence theory was liberal in origin (although, as
Robert Keohane (1984) has demonstrated time and again, the two are
perfectly compatible).
Indeed, in their 1977 book Keohane and Nye proposed that “In-
terdependence in world politics refers to situations characterized by
reciprocal effects among countries or actors in different countries”
(1978/1989:8) What did they mean by “reciprocal effects”? Writing
toward the end of the 1970s, in the aftermath of the first runup in oil
prices, they clearly had the distribution problem in mind. The United
States no longer owned sufficient oil under its private sovereignty,
within its national boundaries, at an acceptable price; others owned
too much and were offering it at too high a price. No one paid atten-
tion to the reciprocal effects on others of too much oil at too low a
price, a condition that led originally to the establishment of OPEC in
the early 1960s, some decades later to the Gulf War of 1990-91
(Lipschutz, 1989:129),18 and that has since resulted in the disappear-
ance of several of the Seven Sisters (the major oil companies). For the
United States, the “reciprocal effect” was primarily a problem of do-
mestic politics, the threat of a disgruntled electorate forced to queue
and pay twice or thrice the accustomed price for a gallon of gas. A few
hot-headed analysts and policymakers proposed taking the oil back,
inasmuch as it was “ours.” Cooler heads prevailed, but the United
States was no longer the same nation as it had been prior to 1973.
100 Chapter 5
Limits to Sustainability?
In the search for the causes of social conflict, both peaceful and vio-
lent, there is often the temptation to look for the things that can be
counted, rather than the things that really count.23 It is easier to calcu-
late per capita availability of water, or the welfare requirements of
immigrants, than to change the social relations and hierarchies of power
and domination that characterize states and societies. It is easier to
invent rhetorics and discourses that, somehow, obfuscate and natural-
106 Chapter 5
ize the inequities inherent in these relationships than to point out and
act on the notion that, although things might be as they are, they do
not have to remain that way. And, it is always easier to ascribe the
causes of unpleasant conditions or events to a mysterious and deter-
ministic history or Nature than it is to unravel the complications of a
political economy that spans the globe while reaching into every nook
and cranny where there are human beings.
Markets, the state, and war are not “natural,” and to believe or act
otherwise is to affirm the status quo as the best of all achievable
worlds. All three are human institutions and, as such, are constructed
and mutable. This is why water wars and water markets can be so
easily juxtaposed in the language and reasoning of liberalism and
neoclassical economics, even though creating open, transborder mar-
kets in water will not necessarily lead to “water peace.” After the dust
settles, it will probably be more “efficient” for Palestine to sell its
water to Tel Aviv than use it for West Bank agriculture. Water will then
flow across borders, becoming scarce on one side and plentiful on the
other, thanks to control by markets rather than the military. How the
people of Hebron and Nablus will feel about that remains to be seen.
6❖
THE SOCIAL CONTRACTION
Since the end of the Cold War, culture and identity have become
prominent explanatory variables in international politics (see, e.g., Lapid
and Kratochwil, 1996). Among the proponents of this notion are Ben-
jamin Barber (1995), Robert Kaplan (1996), and Francis Fukuyama
(1995a, 1995b). The best known, perhaps, is Samuel P. Huntington
(1993; 1996), with his “clash of civilizations.” He (1996:19, 20) ar-
gues that
the years after the Cold War witnessed the beginnings of dramatic
changes in peoples’ identities and the symbols of those identities.
Global politics began to be reconfigured along cultural lines. . . . In
the post–Cold War world flags count and so do other symbols of
cultural identity, including crosses, crescents, and even head cov-
erings, because culture counts, and cultural identity is what is
most meaningful to most people.
In this and other recent works, both culture and identity have been
invoked in essentialist terms, as factors that are as invariant as the
earth on which they stand. States once came into conflict over raw
materials (or so it is said; see Lipschutz, 1989; Westing, 1986); today
107
108 Chapter 6
the Cold War and the disappearance of the repressive mechanisms that
kept them from boiling over for four decades. Indeed, as can be seen
in the cases of Croatia and Serbia, Kosovo, South Asia, and other
places, such invocations, akin to a form of historical materialism, serve
to “naturalize” ethnic consciousness and conflict almost as much as do
genetic and biological theories. Inasmuch as we cannot change histori-
cal consciousness, according to this view, we must allow it to work its
logic out to the bitter end.
A third perspective, most closely associated with Benedict Ander-
son (1991), but elaborated by others, is the idea of the imagined com-
munity. This view suggests that ethnicity and ethnic consciousness are
social constructions best understood as the “intellectual projects” of a
bourgeois intelligentsia. These projects arise when elites, using new
modes of communication, seek to establish what Ernest Gellner (1983)
has called a “high culture” that is distinctive from other, already ex-
isting ones (see also Mann, 1993). Such individuals are, not infre-
quently, to be found in the peripheral regions of empires or states,
excluded from the ruling apparatus by reason of birth or class. Be-
cause they are highly educated, peripheral intellectuals may be offered
opportunities to assimilate into the ruling class, but to reach the top
levels, they must renounce completely all of their natal culture. At the
same time, these elites are also often aware of the cultural and political
possibilities of an identity distinct from that of the center, in which
they can play a formative role. Ethnicity, from this view, is cultural,
and not inherently violent. But violence may develop when two ethnies,
such as Jews and Palestinians, claim the same territory.
A fourth perspective is the defensive one (Lake and Rothchild,
1998). Here, the logics of the state and state system begin to come into
play. Historically, states have been defined largely in terms of the
territory they occupy and the resources and populations they control.
Hence, the state must impose clearly defined borders between itself
and other states. To do this, the state must plausibly demonstrate that
other states and groups pose a physical and ideological threat to its
specific emergent “nation.” Herein, then, lies the logic for the
politicization of group identity, or the emergence of “ethnicity” and
“ethnic conflict”: self-defense.2
The last view is instrumental: Ethnicity is the result of projects
meant to capture state power and control. But such a project is not, as
The Social Contraction 111
and feared by others is much larger than the states it encompasses but,
between Morocco and Malaysia, it is riddled by sectarian, political,
economic, and social as well as cultural differences, even down to the
local level.
Geoculture shows no such variegation. People simply identify
with those symbols—“crosses, crescents, and even head coverings”—
that “tell them” who they are. Culture and identity, twinned together,
thereby come to operate as a sort of proto-ideology, almost a form of
“false consciousness.” And because ideologies are, of necessity, mutu-
ally exclusive, they must also be unremittingly hostile to one another.
The inevitable conclusion is the “clash” predicted in Huntington’s title,
and the replacement of the Cold War order with a new set of impla-
cable enemies driven by an incomprehensible (and “irrational”) sys-
tem of beliefs.
The imputation of such explanatory power to geoculture is not
only theoretically invalid, it is also empirically incorrect. Most of the
violent conflicts underway around the world today are domestic and
involve often-similar ethnic, religious, or class-based groups, strug-
gling to impose their specific version of order on their specific soci-
eties. Such social conflicts do appear to be contests for hearts, minds,
and bodies, and combatants seem to feel no remorse in eliminating
those whom they cannot convert—indeed, conversion is rarely an option.
While most observers and policymakers view these wars as manifes-
tations of chaos that must be “managed” (as detailed in Crocker and
Hampton, 1996), it is perhaps more illuminating to see them as very
much a product of contemporary (or even “postmodern”) times (Luke,
1995). What passes for culture in these wars is, at best, an instrumen-
tal tool for grabbing power and wealth.
Postmodern social warfare has thus been mistakenly character-
ized as war between “cultures.” Huntington (1996) goes so far as to
use the carnage in Bosnia as an archetype for his predictions of “clashes
between civilizational cultures,” pointing to the “fault line” between
Western and Orthodox Christianity as one of the “flash points for
crisis and bloodshed.” Yet the tectonic metaphor is flawed. Just as
earthquake faults are often notable for their invisibility prior to an
event, such cultural fractures in Bosnia were, according to most re-
ports, hardly apparent prior to 1990 (Gagnon, 1995). Moreover, except
for periodic and usually infrequent tremors, faults tend to be very
114 Chapter 6
nomic changes of virtually any type usually cut against the grain of
prior stratification and corporatism. From the perspective of those who
have benefited from such arrangements, any change is to be opposed.
The problem with the views and theories offered above is that, taken
individually, each is incomplete. To be sure, ethnicity, religion, and
culture have played prominent roles in Bosnia, Rwanda, Sri Lanka,
Kashmir, Nigeria, Algeria, Georgia, Angola, Kosovo, Chechnya, and
so on, but they are better understood as contingent factors, rather than
either fundamental triggers of intrastate wars or ends in themselves.
Each theory provides some element of the whole, but none, taken
alone, is sufficient. Moreover, each assumes that the phenomenon we
call “ethnicity” or “sectarianism” is, necessarily, the same today as it
was 50, 200, or even 1,000 years ago. But the systems within which
these phenomena and wars have emerged in recent years have not been
static and, to the extent that systemic conditions impose changing
demands and constraints on domestic political configurations, today’s
“ethnicity” must be different from even that of 1950. But how?
As indicated by a growing body of research (Crawford and
Lipschutz, 1998), we must look beyond the five arguments to account
for the implosion of existing states and the drive to establish new ones
out of the pieces of the old. The causes of recent and ongoing episodes
of social conflict are obviously correlated with the end of the Cold
War,3 but they have been fueled in no small part by large-scale pro-
cesses of economic and political change set in train long before 1989.
Specifically, as I argued in chapter 2, changes in the international
“division of labor,” economic globalization, and the resulting pressures
on countries to alter their domestic economic and political policies in
order to more fully participate in the “community of nations”—all
processes that began during the Cold War—have had deleterious ef-
fects on the relative stability of countries long after its end.4
As I noted in earlier chapters, Barry Buzan (1991) has argued
that the state is composed of three elements: a material base, an ad-
ministrative system, and an idea. He suggests that the “idea” of the
state is equivalent in some way to nationalism, although he does not
116 Chapter 6
examine closely the role of the state itself, or its elites, in creating and
sustaining this idea. What has become more evident in recent years is
that nationalism (or “patriotism,” as it is called in the United States)
is only the public face of a very complex citizen/civil society/state
relationship. In industrialized, democratic countries, flag waving, an-
them singing, and oath taking are public rituals that visibly unite the
polity with the state. Such rituals can extend even to sports and similar
activities, as evidenced by the nationalist hoopla that surrounds the
supposedly internationalist Olympic Games.
There is, however, more to this relationship than just ritual; there
is a substructure, both material and cognitive, that might be called a
“social contract.”5 This is an implicit understanding of the quid pro
quos or entitlements provided to the citizen in return for her loyalty to
the idea, institutions, and practices of the state (see chapter 8). All
relatively stable nation-states are characterized by political and social
arrangements that have some form of historical legitimacy. The idea of
the “social contract” is, conventionally, ascribed to Rousseau (1968)
and Locke (1988), who argued that the state is the result of what
amounts to a contractual agreement among people to yield up certain
“natural” rights and freedoms in exchange for political stability and
protection. Locke went so far as to argue that no state was legitimate
that did not rule with the “consent of the governed,” a notion that
retains its currency in the contemporary Washington consensus for
“democratic enlargement” (Clinton, 1997; Mansfield and Snyder, 1995,
offers a more skeptical view of this proposition). Rousseau’s theory of
the origin of the state owed much to the notion of consent, as well,
although he recognized that some sovereigns ruled through contempt,
rather than consent, of the governed. Both philosophers also acknowl-
edged the importance of material life to the maintenance of the social
contract.
My use of the term here is somewhat different, in that it does not
assume a necessarily formalized expression of the social contract.
Sometimes, these contracts are codified in written constitutions; at
other times, they are not inscribed anywhere, but are found instead in
the political and social institutions of a country (as in the United
Kingdom or Israel). In either case, a social contract structures the
terms of individual citizenship and inclusion in a country’s political
community, the rules of political participation, the political relation-
The Social Contraction 117
ship between the central state and its various regions, and the distri-
bution of material resources within the country and to various indi-
viduals. Social contracts also tend to specify the roles that people may
occupy within the country and society, and the relationships between
these roles.
Quite often, these social contracts are neither just, equitable, nor
fair. They are nevertheless widely accepted, and people tend not to
dispute them actively, if only because such opposition can also affect
their own material position and safety. The social contract is, there-
fore, a constitutive source of social and political stability within coun-
tries, and its erosion or destruction can become the trigger for conflict
and war. I do not claim that these social contracts are necessarily
respectful of human rights or economically efficient; only that, as
historical constructs, they possess a certain degree of legitimacy and
authority that allows societies to reproduce themselves in a fairly
peaceful manner, over extended periods of time.6
Within the frameworks established by such social contracts, we
often find stratified hierarchies, with dominators and dominated, pow-
erful and powerless. Frequently, these roles and relationships have
what we would call an “ethnic” or “religious” character as, for ex-
ample, in the traditional caste system in India, or the “ethnic divisions
of labor” once found throughout the lands of the former Ottoman
Empire, institutionalized in the millet system, and still present through-
out the Caucasus and Central Asia (as well as in some American cities;
see Derlugian, 1998). Historically, these hierarchies have tended to
change only rather slowly, on a generational scale, unless exposed to
sudden and unexpected pressures such as war, invasion, famine, eco-
nomic collapse, and so on.
What is crucial is that these arrangements help to legitimate, in
a Gramscian sense, the political framework within which a society
exists, thereby reinforcing the citizen/civil society/state relationship.
External threats to the nation and its inhabitants—whether real or
imagined—can help to consolidate these social contracts as well as to
facilitate changes deemed necessary for the continued reproduction of
state and society. Threats make it possible to mobilize the citizenry in
support of some national “interests” as opposed to others. Threats also
help to legitimate domestic welfare policies and interventions that might,
under other circumstances, be politically controversial and disruptive.
118 Chapter 6
How many of the potential nations existing in the world are likely to
seek a state? Approximately 50 countries signed the United Nations
charter in 1945. In theory, those 50 represented virtually all of the
population of the Allied countries and empires, inasmuch as the Eu-
ropean powers fully expected to regain control over colonial territories
occupied by the Axis or lost, for a time, to domestic insurgencies. By
the mid-1970s, with the first wave of postwar decolonization just about
over, UN membership had climbed to more than 150. Following the
collapse of Yugoslavia and the Soviet Union, the number of states
belonging to the UN passed 190. There is little reason to think the
count will stop there, as suggested by an article in the Wall Street
Journal (Davis, 1994) entitled “Global Paradox: Growth of Trade Binds
Nations, but It Also Can Spur Separatism.” The author pondered whether
we might see a world of 500 countries at some time in the future.
Another piece in the San Francisco Chronicle (Viviano, 1995), “World’s
Wannabee Nations Sound Off,” told of the many ethnic, indigenous,
and sectarian groups seeking political autonomy. Finally, there are
World Wide Web sites listing hundreds of “microstates” and “micro-
nations,” some serious, others not.
In principle, there are few limits to the number of independent
states that might come into being in the future; some have suggested
the world’s 2,000-odd languages or 5,000-odd potential ethnies stand
as an upper limit. In practice, however, there is considerable reluctance
on the part of already existing countries to recognize new ones that
have not been created with the consent of both government and gov-
erned, even though this specific requirement is quite elastic (see
Bierstecker and Weber, 1996). As testified to by efforts to reassemble
shattered states, such as Cambodia and Somalia, there may also be a
sub-rosa fear that successful nonstate forms of political community
could be disruptive of the current structure of international politics. In
other words, for the time being, the only normatively acceptable form
of political community at the international level is the state. A prolif-
eration of clans, tribes, city-states, trading leagues, social movement
organizations, transnational identity coalitions, diasporas, and so on
could raise questions of legitimacy and representation that might very
128 Chapter 6
In one sense, the state has come full circle in its travels from Westphalia
to “McWorld” (as Benjamin Barber puts it; 1995). When the original
documents constituting state sovereignty were formulated and signed
in the seventeenth century, the princes and their noble colleagues were
seeking to protect themselves. States (and populations) were sovereign
property, not the autonomous actors we imagine them to be today and,
inasmuch as royal sovereignty was coterminous with territory, prince
and state were the same. In essence, the Westphalian agreement said,
“What is mine is mine, what is yours is yours, and we leave each
other’s property alone.” Exclusion of the Other was, therefore, the
watchword, for this was the best way to ensure that one’s property
would be left alone. This did not rule out wars, of course, for there was
nothing and no one to enforce such agreements. As often as not, self-
interest and family feuds overrode social niceties (Elias, 1994).
The transition from royal state to nation-state was a gradual one,
though well under way by the end of the eighteenth century. Still, the
fundamental principle of state exclusivity did not change. Indeed,
without it, the state as an entity with sole jurisdiction over a defined
territory could not exist, precisely as it did not exist in this form prior
to the Westphalian revolution. In its absence, we would be faced now,
as then, with a form of “neomedievalism,” characterized by overlap-
ping but differentiated political realms, governed by multilevel and
sometimes coterminous authorities, with inhabitants confessing loy-
alty to several different units, depending on circumstances (see, e.g.,
Elias, 1994; Bull, 1977:264–76).
As events turned out, the nation-state came to be defined by a
shared, if artificial or imagined, nationality that was also exclusive: the
citizen could not confess loyalty to more than one state at a time (even
today, dual citizenship is rarely permitted by national authorities). The
nation-state thus became, on the one hand, a container for all those
who fit within a certain designated category and, on the other hand, a
The Social Contraction 131
barrier to keep out those who did not fit within that category. It also
became a means for the accumulation of power at the center as well
as the division of power with other similar centers.
To reinforce the claim to centralized power and generate exclu-
sive allegiance to a single center, the state had to accomplish two ends.
First, it had to eliminate competing claimants to legitimacy from within
its putative jurisdiction; ethnic cleansing was state practice long before
CNN began to transmit news stories and film from Bosnia and Rwanda.
Turning “peasants into Frenchmen” (Weber, 1976)—or whatever—
could lead either to assimilation of peripheral nations into the nation-
ality of the center, or it could result in the ruthless extermination of
minorities by the center (Elias, 1994). Second, the state had to gener-
ate in those under its jurisdiction a parallel resistance to the attractions
of other centers, that is, other nation-states and nationalities. Keeping
with the precise demarcation of state territories beginning in the nine-
teenth century, it also became necessary to demarcate precisely the
same boundaries within the minds of those living within the lines on
the ground and to discipline those who, somehow, violated those bound-
aries (a point to which I return in the next chapter).
Nationalism—and distinctions among types is irrelevant here—
was, with very few exceptions, formulated as a doctrine of collective
superiority and absolute morality vis-à-vis other nations, thereby serv-
ing to bind citizens to the state and to separate them from other states.
This was not a one-way deal, of course; the state promised to provide
security and political stability to those who signed up with it and not
with another (not unlike the deals offered by competing phone and
Internet Service Providers companies today). This system of national
exclusivity reached its apogee during the middle of the twentieth cen-
tury, when some countries became, in effect, sealed containers from
which there was no possibility of escape. The end of the Cold War not
only unsealed the containers but provided the permissive conditions
for new containers to be established, as groups of people found them-
selves both dispossessed from their position within the nation-state
and increasingly resentful of their dispossession.
Where might the processes of state fragmentation and social
contraction stop, once they have been put into motion? Here, the con-
tradictions between the nation-state and the market become critical. To
repeat briefly what has been said above as well as many times before:
132 Chapter 6
133
134 Chapter 7
Real-State or Moral-State?
The end of the Soviet Union destroyed utterly and finally the concep-
tual border between the good of the Free World and the evil of the
“bad bloc,” thereby exposing the American people to all sorts of per-
nicious, malevolent, and immoral forces, beliefs, and tendencies. It
should be no cause for wonder, consequently, that the domestic poli-
tics of morality, especially in the United States, have become so pro-
nounced and full of inconsistencies (“get the government off of our
backs but into the bedrooms of teenage mothers”) and have been
extended ever more strongly into the international arena.2 Paradoxi-
cally, perhaps, the fundamental causal explanations for these contra-
dictions are to be found not in domestic politics, as is conventionally
thought; rather, the roots of this phenomenon lie in the very nature of
the nation-state itself, in its somewhat uncertain place in the so-called
international system, and in the spread of the norms and practices of
political and economic liberalism, a point I have argued in earlier
chapters. Far from being amoral, as is so often claimed, state behavior,
as encoded in the language and practices of realism, nationalism, state-
centricity, and anarchy, exemplifies morality in the extreme, with each
unit representing a self-contained, exclusionary moral-state.
How can this be? In contemporary international relations theory,
the conventional perspective on the nation-state is largely a realist,
functionalist one. The state serves to protect itself and its citizens
against external enemies, and to defend the sanctity of contracts and
property rights from internal ones. Morality, as George Kennan (1985/
86) and others have never tired of telling us, should play no role in the
life of the real-state, for to do so is to risk both safety and credibility.
But can the state stand simply for the protection of material interests
and nothing else (Hirsch, 1995; Ellis and Kumar, 1983)? After all, the
essential constitutive element of the nation-state—the nation—repre-
sents the eternal continuity of specific myths, beliefs, and values, usu-
The Princ(ipal) 137
violated (although probably more often observed than not), but they
did form the basis for a continent-wide society.
Not altogether unintentionally, most late-twentieth-century main-
stream IR theorists have been little concerned with the domestic im-
plications of anarchy and sovereignty and have, instead, addressed the
functional significance of the two practices for relations among states.
Anarchy is said to imply “self-help,” or self-protection, while sover-
eignty is said to imply “self-interest” or, in its modern mode, accumu-
lation (Inayatullah, 1996). I will not belabor these two points, inasmuch
as they are the staple of every IR text published over the past 150
years (Schmidt, 1998). I will point out, however, that as practices, both
presuppose modes of transnational regulation rather than the absence
of rules and norms so often associated with them.5 More than this,
both sovereignty and anarchy can be regarded as expressions of a
state-centric morality that presumes a legitimate order within and il-
legitimate disorder without.
The first point is best seen in Kenneth Waltz’s well-known (albeit
flawed) invocation of the market as a structurally anarchic parallel to
international politics (Waltz, 1979). In invoking the headless market,
Waltz draws on Adam Smith’s famous “invisible hand” to explain
outcomes of relations between states but fails to recognize that the
“invisible foot” of international politics might well produce results
quite unlike the orderly outcome posited by Smith. The error commit-
ted by Waltz is to regard both markets and international politics as
self-regulating, driven by no more than self-interest or power (Smith,
by contrast, hoped that religious beliefs would constrain people’s ap-
petites; see Hirsch, 1995).
As social institutions, markets are subject to both implicit and
explicit regulations. The market is governed, first of all, by the com-
mand “Thou shalt not kill.” Other rules follow. Walter Russell Mead
(1995/96:14) makes a similar point about airports and air travel when
he argues that, “Cutthroat competition between airlines coexists with
common adherence to traffic and safety regulations without which
airport operations would not be possible.” So it is between states. The
two principles of anarchy and sovereignty are both constitutive of the
international system as it is conceived and regulative of it, and they
constitute moral boundaries for the state that preserve the fiction of
international (dis)order and domestic order (Brown, 1992: chap. 5).
The Princ(ipal) 141
The first true nation-states, it is usually agreed, were Britain and France.
In Britain, the modern “nation” emerged out of the Civil War of the
seventeenth century, as Parliament fought with the king over the right
The Princ(ipal) 143
of rule and the power of the purse. The Puritan Revolution represented
an effort to impose on the state a moral order that was both Christian
and a forerunner of capitalist individualism but that nonetheless had
no external sources or referents of authority apart from God. Hence,
the Puritans portrayed Rome and its adherents (including, putatively,
any Catholic English sovereigns) as mortal enemies of Cromwell’s
Commonwealth and England.
This effort to purify the body politic of religious heresy was
doomed to fail, however, so long as heretics could not be expelled
from the nation’s territory or eliminated through extermination (a fa-
miliar problem even today).9 The Restoration, which put Charles II on
the British throne, was as much a recognition of the intractability of
the moral exclusion of a portion of the body politic itself as a reaction
against the harshness of the Commonwealth and its attacks on certain
elites. The emergence of the British nation during the following cen-
tury—and the renewal of war with France during the 1700s—redrew
the moral boundaries of society at the edges of the state, and estab-
lished loyalty to king and country as a value above all others.
In France, the Revolution launched a process whereby the source
of state legitimacy was transferred from an increasingly discredited
(and eventually dead) sovereign to the “people.” The French nation did
not, however, attempt to establish a new moral order; that was left to
the various and successive leaderships in the two centuries that fol-
lowed. But the French Revolution did mark a major change in the
ontology of the moral order of the state. Whereas the princely state
derived authority from God, the new French state derived its authority
from a “natural” entity called the “nation.” Enlightenment rationalism
sought explanations for the workings of the universe in science; even
Hobbes looked to Nature to explain politics and provide a model for
the Commonwealth. What could be more logical than to look for the
origins of the nation in Nature? By the end of the nineteenth century,
even though the very concept was less than a century old, nations had
been transmorgrified into constructs whose origins were lost in the
dim mists of antiquity but whose continuity was attributed to the their
connections to specific territories and the “survival of the fittest” (Dalby,
1990; Agnew and Corbridge, 1995).
As I have noted in earlier chapters, this new age of moral impe-
rialism was rooted in Darwin’s ideas about natural selection, but ex-
144 Chapter 7
(Stone, 1988) that had not, heretofore, existed. But in order to main-
tain its sovereignty and autonomy, this natural community had to be
juxtaposed against another. Thus, on one side of the boundary of
containment was to be found a unit (the Free World) whose sover-
eignty depended upon keeping out the influences of a unit on the other
side (the bloc). The Free World could never have existed without the
corresponding “unfree world.”
Within the borders of the Free World, however, there remained a
problem: the protection of state sovereignty and autonomy—hereto-
fore regarded as the natural order of things—threatened to undermine
the integrity of the whole. This was especially difficult from the
American point of view, as illustrated in the famous confrontation
between so-called isolationists and internationalists.15 The solution to
the dilemma was a form of multilateral economic nationalism (Ruggie,
1983a; 1991, 1995). Inside the boundaries of the Free World, states
were granted the right to manage their national economies, but only so
long as they agreed to move toward and, eventually, adopt the tenets
of an internationalized liberalism. With respect to the area outside the
boundaries, however, the Free World would, to the extent possible,
remain neomercantilistic and self-contained, antagonistic to those who
refused to “come in from the cold” (Pollard, 1985; Lipschutz, 1989;
Crawford, 1993).
Already in the late 1950s, the morality of this arrangement, and
the security strategy based on nuclear “massive retaliation,” was being
challenged by so-called peace movements opposed to the threat-based
logic of East-West relations (Deudney, 1995). By the early 1980s, the
Free World’s social contract was becoming fragile as a result of
détente, a growing international emphasis on human rights, and the
economic troubles that had begun during the 1970s. The former two
threatened to undermine moral order within the Free World by turning
friends into enemies and vice versa; the latter—especially inflation—
threatened to undermine moral order within the United States. It re-
quired the renewal of a really cold Cold War during the 1980s to
reestablish the moral polarities of East and West, and to excuse the
vile behaviors of American allies in the name of meeting the greater
moral threats of Soviet adventurism and loss of faith in America.
Alas, to no avail! The subsequent collapse of Communism, and
the much-trumpeted triumph of liberalism and democracy, fully under-
148 Chapter 7
also Lipschutz, 1999b). But that these enemies represent the worst of
all possible moral actors is hardly questioned by anyone.
Disciplinary deterrence is not, however, limited to renegades
outside of the United States; it has also been extended into the domes-
tic arena. For most of the Cold War, the threat of Communist subver-
sion, and the fear of being identified as a Pinko Comsymp in some
police agency’s files, were sufficient to keep U.S. citizens from stray-
ing too far from the Free World straight and narrow. Red baiting
continued long after the Red Scares of the 1950s—one can even find
it today, in the excoriation of so-called liberals (San Francisco
Chronicle, 1997) and Marxist academics (Lind, 1991)—although the
language of discipline and exclusion has become somewhat more
sophisticated with the passage of time. Still, since the collapse of the
Soviet Union it has been difficult for political and social elites to
discipline an unruly polity; that things can get out of hand without
strong guidance from above is the message of South Central (Los
Angeles), Oklahoma City, Waco, and Ruby Ridge.
Consequently, warnings routinely issued from on high that the
“world is a dangerous place” serve to replace the disciplining threat of
Communism (Kugler, 1995). Such warnings are, however, unduly vague.
We are told that weapons of mass destruction—nuclear, biological,
chemical—could turn up in a truck or suitcase (Myers, 1997). We are
informed that laptop cyberterrorists are skulking around the Internet.
We are instructed that some country’s missiles are bound, eventually,
to land in Alaska, Hawaii, or even Los Angeles. Therefore, we must
rely on and trust the authorities to prevent such eventualities, even
though the damage done by one or several such devices would never
approach the destructive potential that still rests in the arsenals of the
nuclear weapons states (Lipschutz, 1999b).
Unnamed terrorists—often implied to be Muslim—are discussed
and dissed, but some of the most deadly actors turn out to be the “boy
or girl next door” (Kifner, 1995). The Clinton administration further
sows paranoia, seeking funding to track such neighbors by
The state possessed by the siren song of its own moral efficacy is not
yet an artifact of history; as illustrated by international indignation
over Rwanda, Bosnia, and Kosovo, the acts of purification required by
extreme nationalism are not so willingly accepted in today’s world as
they once might have been. Interventions—on those rare occasions
when they do take place—are still usually explained, however, by old
statist moralities—the “balance of power” or some such—rather than
humanistic ones. At the same time, moreover, a new phenomenon has
emerged to challenge the logic of realism: the morality of the market
has begun to displace the morality of the state. One might easily say,
of course, that the market has no morality. Driven by an ethic of self-
interest, the individual is motivated only to consume as much as pos-
sible, within the constraints of the combined limit of her debit and
credit cards. And yet, and yet. . . .
There is a quite explicit morality associated with discourses of
market liberalism and economic growth. According to Smithian prin-
ciples, the behavior of individuals in free exchange, when taken to-
gether, leads to the collective betterment of society without the
intervention of politics or power. The market is often offered as a
The Princ(ipal) 151
Such ideas, originating with the Calvinist notion of the elect, have
been repeated again and again in countless political jeremiads
(Bercovitch, 1978) and presidential speeches, of which Bill Clinton’s
1997 Inaugural Address is only one recent expression (and which his
successor will, undoubtedly, repeat on January 21, 2001).
There is a difference between Calvinism and consumerism, how-
ever. In times past, one’s material success was indicative of one’s
moral superiority; today, one’s material consumption is indicative of
one’s contribution to the moral uplifting of the world. Indeed, we
might say that, in the emerging global moral economy, consumption
becomes not only an individual good, but a collective moral and utili-
tarian “good,” too. Consumption fosters prosperity, prosperity improves
people’s well-being and contentment with the status quo, and the re-
sultant stability of social relations is a morally desirable outcome. As
President Clinton (1997) put it in “A National Security Strategy for a
New Century,”
Or, modifying slightly the late Deng Xiaoping’s dictum, “It is glorious
to consume.”
The dissemination throughout the world of liberal market prin-
ciples, including liberalization, privatization, and structural adjustment,
thus begins to acquire the character of a teleological moral crusade
rather than the simple pursuit of national or self-interest. Public own-
ership and welfare spending are condemned as inefficient and wasteful
and proscribed by international financial bodies and investors. Venal
and bloated governments expend resources on projects that contribute
to corruption and indolence, and undermine individuals’ efforts to
improve their own position and status by dint of moral reasoning and
good works. The discipline of the market rewards those who hew to
its principles, whether state, corporation, or individual. And those who
cannot or will not do so must be left to suffer the consequences of
their economic apostasy.
The Princ(ipal) 153
Stephen Gill (1995) has written perceptively about the ways in which
the “global panopticon” of liberal markets act to impose their peculiar
morality on the both the credit-worthy and credit-risky. As I argued
above, as the nation-state and nationalism have lost the moral author-
ity they once commanded, such authority has shifted increasingly to
the market and its disciplines (Strange, 1996). And there is more re-
ligion to the market than meets the eye. Those who don’t adhere to the
standards of the credit-givers (and takers!)—whether individual or
state—are cast out of the blessed innermost circle of the global economy.
To be readmitted requires a strict regimen of self-discipline, denial,
and reestablishment of one’s good name.
But even those with triple-A credit ratings and platinum plastic
are not free of this moral regime. Inundated daily with bank offers of
new credit cards and below-market interest rates, the credit-worthy are
kept to the straight and narrow by fear of punishment should they
violate the code of the credit-rating agencies. The proper response to
such offers is, of course, “Get thee from me, Satan!” (although not
everyone can rise above such temptation; ballooning consumer debt
and growing numbers of bankruptcies in the United States indicate
that backsliding is on the increase). Nonetheless, we see here the true
genius of a globalized credit system. Whereas Church authority was
akin to statist regulation—the same rules for everybody, with damna-
tion bestowed through the collective judgement of the community—
market-based morality relies on self-regulation (and self-damnation).
Pie can be had now (none of that “by and by in the sky” stuff) and
temporal salvation is keyed to individual capacity to carry the maxi-
mum credit load that s/he can bear—different strokes for different
folks. As many of us know from experience, however, self-regulation
is a weak reed on which to base a social system. Moreover, the desire
to consume to the maximum of one’s individual credit limit does carry
with it a larger consequence: the domestic social anarchy that arises
from self-interest as the sole moral standard to which each individual
consumer hews.
Faced with this New World morality, can the nation-state recap-
ture its moral authority and reimpose the borders of order? In some
places, such as the former Yugoslavia, the agents of virulent ethno-
154 Chapter 7
nationalisms have tried, but only with limited success. More recently,
in places such as Israel and Guatemala, the lure of riches in the market
have come to outweigh the certainty of riches by forced appropriation
(Lipschutz, 1999a). In other places, such as the United States and
Europe, culture wars have become the chosen means to discipline
those who would deviate from “traditional” social norms, in a forced
effort to bring the heretics back in. But hedonism, cultural innovation,
and social reorganization are hallmarks of the market so loved by the
very conservatives who have launched these very domestic battles
(Gabriel, 1997; Elliott, 1997).
Short of reimposing a kind of quasi-theocratic autarchy on their
societies—which, in any case, would be vigorously opposed by the
cosmopolitan economic elites that benefit from globalization, and lead
to disruption and upheaval on a massive scale—the nation-state has
little to fall back on in facing this new world. National borders might
be guarded by armies, navies and police armed to the teeth, but the
borders of nationalist moralities, drawn in the minds of the “nation,”
have always been fluid and difficult to demarcate. And imagination
knows no boundaries. Carried to an extreme, the market will turn each
of us into a nation of one, every man and woman a state, a world of
10 billion atomized, consuming countries. Then, indeed, will we enter
into the “borderless world.”
8❖
POLITICS AMONG PEOPLE
The pictures I have painted throughout this book are none too attrac-
tive; they might be pleasing to the logical eye but cannot be very
appealing to the emotional one. Yet, such scenes of gloom, doom,
conflict, war (and “liberal” peace; Lipschutz, 1999a) do not encom-
pass the entire world. As Kenneth Boulding (1977) once pointed out,
at any particular moment, the number of people living peaceful lives
is much, much greater than the number who are not. Why, then, focus
on the bad to the exclusion of the good or promising? Why not try to
portray positive possibilities rather than a bleak futurescape?
We pay greater attention to social disorder, violent conflict, and
war precisely because they are so outside the norm of everyday expe-
rience, because they “sell” in the media, and because they make us
feel a need to do something. The result, however, is that we are left
with the belief that the world truly is “a dangerous place,” that we are
under constant threat, and that there is little that we, as individuals or
155
156 Chapter 8
After Authority
In the preceding chapters of this book, I have argued that the basic
problem we face is best understood as a disjunction between contem-
158 Chapter 8
In recent years, speculation about the “future of the state” has been
rife (as evident from this book and others cited throughout). What is
Politics among People 161
most conspicuous, and provides the basis for solid skepticism about
the unchanging nature of world politics, are seemingly contradictory
tendencies evident in world politics, as we have seen in earlier chap-
ters.6 On the one hand, we are offered the notion of a single world,
integrated via a globalizing economy, in which the sovereign state
appears to be losing much of its authority and control over domestic
and foreign affairs (Ohmae, 1991; 1995; Strange, 1996; Woodall, 1995).
These trends appear to point toward an eventual world state or federa-
tion, along the lines of the European Union, only bigger. On the other
hand, and contrary to the expectations of neofunctionalists and others,
we have seen once-unified countries fracture into war-ridden frag-
ments, in which an ever shrinking state exercises sovereignty over
diminishing bits of territory. Both processes involve, as Susan Strange
(1996) put it, a “retreat of the state,” albeit in quite different ways. But
they also suggest that integration will not lead to a world federation of
states and regions even as fragmentation does not presage a return to
national sovereignty and a more traditional international relations among
five hundred or more states. So, what is going on?
In The Great Transformation, Karl Polanyi (1944/57) argued that
the self-regulating market was an ideal that could not be fully achieved,
lest it destroy human civilization; the two world wars almost accom-
plished this task (and the Third World War that never happened, but
might yet, would surely do so). In recent decades, we have tended to
forget his prescient warnings.7 The globalization of production and
capital over the past half century has been accompanied by liberaliza-
tion and, at the rhetorical level at least, a commitment to the deregu-
lation of markets. But in deregulation lies an apparent paradox of our
times: a liberal economy cannot exist without rules—so, where are
they? Indeed, as I noted in chapter 7, markets require rules in order to
function in an orderly fashion (Mead, 1995/96; Attali, 1997).
In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the first steps
toward globalization were brought to a halt by national governments
and elites who saw threats to their autonomy and prerogatives. The
same pattern followed in the 1930s, and there are a few signs that this
may be happening again, today. Free traders and their economist sup-
porters decry the protectionist trends they see developing in trade re-
lations among the industrialized economies, warning that the world is
going down the same path it has trodden before (Bergsten, 1996).
162 Chapter 8
Perhaps they are correct, perhaps not. It is certainly not beyond the
realm of possibility that competitive geopolitical blocs could (re)emerge
in the future, as feared by some observers of the European Union, the
North American Free Trade Area, and the once-feared and now dor-
mant New Asian Co-Prosperity Sphere under Japanese tutelage. There
remains, however, enough residual collective memory, and the World
Trade Organization, to suggest that such an outcome might be avoided.
But there are good reasons, too, for arguing that contemporary
international economic relations bear little if any resemblance to the
1930s. As I have noted throughout this book, nation-states are caught in
a contradiction of their own making and, for all the parallels to the past,
are treading down a path they have not walked before. On the one hand,
they are decentralizing, deregulating, and liberalizing in order to provide
more attractive economic environments for financial capital and, as they
do so, dismantling the safety net provided by the welfare state. That
safety net, it should be noted, includes not only assurance of health and
safety, environmental protection, public education, and so on, but also
standard sets of rules that “level the economic playing field” and ensure
the sanctity of contracts, the latter two both desired by capital. On the
other hand, the shift of regulation from the national to the international
level is creating a new skein of rules and regulations.
Even the British-governed international economy of the nine-
teenth century, often idealized by gold bugs and free traders, was not
a free-for-all. It was regulated, if only by the constraints of the gold
standard and the resultant behavior of financiers in London and New
York. Today’s markets are hardly self-regulating, either. While “de-
regulation” is the mantra repeated endlessly in virtually all national
capitals and by all international capitalists, it is domestic deregulation
vis à vis other producers that is desired, not the wholesale elimination
of all rules (Vogel, 1996; Graham, 1996). Selective deregulation at
home may create a lower-cost environment in which to produce, but
deregulation everywhere creates uncertainty and economic instability.
Hence, transnational regulation and global welfarism—the successors
to Bretton Woods—are becoming increasingly important in keeping
the global economic system together and working.8 The difficulty with
the globalization of rules is, to repeat an earlier point: What rules and
whose rules? Who pays for them? Who decides what they will say?
And how are those decisions made?
Politics among People 163
What this discussion has not, so far, defined is the relationship be-
tween individuals and the new forms of political action inherent in the
globalization of functional authority. That discussion requires an in-
quiry into the nature of membership in a political community, that is,
citizenship. In its standard form, citizenship is defined as a collection
of rights and obligations that give individuals a formal legal identity
within a state and society. The Westernized (and, some would argue,
masculinized) philosophical problem of how individuals come together
to form political collectives in which they are members has puzzled
political philosophers for centuries. The apparent tension between
human beings as highly individualistic entities and the societies they
nevertheless have created led historically to such propositions as Le-
viathan, the Social Contract, the Watchman State, Civil Republican-
ism, the Welfare State, and even the Invisible Hand. Indeed, the problem
of how State and Society came to be remains something of a puzzle
to Western theorists, even today.
These are not, however, the only ways to conceive of citizenship.
As Bryan Turner (1997:5) puts it in the introduction to the first issue of
a journal called Citizenship Studies, “[T]hese legal rights and obliga-
tions [of citizenship] have been put together historically as sets of social
institutions such as the jury system, parliaments and welfare states.”
Turner goes on to argue that a “political” conception of citizenship is
typically focused on “political rights, the state and the individual,” whereas
a “sociological” definition involves the nature of people’s entitlements
to scarce resources, confers a particular cultural identity on individuals
and groups, and includes the “idea of a political community as the basis
of citizenship . . . typically the nation-state.” That is,
when individuals become citizens, they not only enter into a set
of institutions that confers upon them rights and obligations, they
not only acquire an identity, they are not only socialized into civic
virtues, but they also become members of a political community
with a particular territory and history. (Turner, 1997:9)
other citizens and the state. The market is part of this institutional
structure and, historically, the rules underwriting and functioning of
markets have been guaranteed by the authority and activities of the
state.13
In “normal” times, the contradictions between substructure and
superstructure are minimal—or are either not very evident or are foisted
off on the poor and powerless as “natural”—and citizenship is a rela-
tively stable construct. Under those circumstances, people follow the
rules and expect to receive commensurate rewards in return (see chap-
ter 6). Less and less, however, are these “normal” times, as I have
argued throughout this book. For better or worse, then, the tensions
between globalization and fragmentation cannot be addressed by at-
tempts to establish exclusive domains of society and citizen, either by
philosophy or force. Such solutions attempt to “imagine communities”
(Anderson, 1991) into being without taking into account the material
forces that are, on the one hand, keeping imaginary communities from
becoming “real” and, on the other hand, pulling real ones apart.
The core problematic here is that the forces of globalization are
disrupting the boundaries that, for the past two centuries, contained
societies and national communities and provided the basis for contex-
tual forms of citizenship and belonging (Shapiro and Alker, 1996).
Attempts to reestablish these boundaries and the civic communities
within them through disciplinary measures, whether domestic or for-
eign, risk reproducing the logic of antagonistic nation-states in a much
more fragmented form, as newly imagined communities resist the
hegemony of the old one (see the essays in Crawford and Lipschutz,
1998).
If territorial units are no longer the logical focus for political
loyalty, can some other form of political community substitute? What
can replace the citizen’s allegiance to state as the new basis for poli-
tics? If the rampant individualism of the market is creating a world of
10 billion statelets, how can people come together to act collectively?
In principle, states might be able to act against the tendency of
marketization to diminish their authority within their national boundaries.
In practice, and short of a repeat of a global crisis akin to the 1930s
(which was, after all, one of the reasons for the post–World War II
globalization project), it is difficult to imagine such a restoration tak-
ing place. For reasons I have discussed elsewhere, having to do with
168 Chapter 8
The question of “the subject” is crucial for politics, and for femi-
nist politics in particular, because juridical subjects are invariably
produced through certain exclusionary practices that do not “show”
once the juridical structure of politics has been established. In
other words, the political construction of the subject proceeds
with certain legitimating and exclusionary aims, and these politi-
cal operations are effectively concealed and naturalized by a
political analysis that takes juridical structures as their founda-
tion. Juridical power inevitably “produces” what it claims merely
to represent; hence, politics must be concerned with this dual
function of power: the juridical and the productive. (Butler, 1990:2)
Politics among People 169
The female sex is thus also the subject that is not one. The rela-
tion between masculine and feminine cannot be represented in a
signifying economy in which the masculine constitutes the closed
circle of signifier and signified. (Emphasis in original)
Not only did Mandelbaum ignore the role of the American state in
fostering the “noble profession” of social work, he also fell into the
traditional realist trap of regarding such intervention as unworthy of
state attention, presumably seeing it as an activity fit only for nonstate
actors. The American state has military power for a purpose, and it
must use it!
A further, and much more fundamental, consequence of this bi-
nary treatment of state/nonstate was raised in chapters 4 and 6. Not
only must a nation have a state of its own (or, perhaps, vice versa), a
nation without a state is incomplete and impotent. It cannot act in
international politics in a fully capable (and male) fashion; it must not
even accept anything less than a fully sovereign (and potent) state. To
remain a “not-state” is to not exist. Such views, to put it mildly, are
absolute nonsense. More than that, they cast the matter of after author-
ity in quite a different light than a choice between micro states and
macro markets, and suggest a program that is quite distinct from the
integration/fragmentation dichotomy of the state/not-state binary.
To go beyond this, toward a “proliferation” of legitimate and
authoritative actors in the inter/transnational realm, requires us to think
(and act) quite differently where global politics are concerned; as Butler
(1990:33) writes about gender
Skocpol offers here a conception of the state that is, perhaps, too broad
in encompassing society, but her point is, in my view, an important
one. The state is more than just its constitution, agencies, rules, and
roles, and it is embedded, as well, in a system of governance. From
this view, state and civil society can be seen as mutually constitutive
174 Chapter 8
and, where the state engages in government, civil society often plays
a role in governance.
What is striking, especially in terms of relationships between
nongovernmental organizations and institutionalized mechanisms of
government, as well as capital and international regimes, is the growth
of institutions of governance at and across all levels of analysis,
from the local to the global (see, e.g., Leatherman, Pagnucco, and
Smith, 1994: esp. pp. 23–28). This growth suggests, to repeat the
argument made above, that even though there is no world govern-
ment, as such, there may well be an emerging system of global
governance. Subsumed within this system of governance are both
institutionalized regulatory arrangements—some of which we call
“regimes”—and less formalized norms, rules, and procedures that
pattern behavior without the presence of written constitutions or
material power.17 This system is not a “state,” as we commonly
understand the term, but it is statelike, in Skocpol’s second sense.
Indeed, we can see emerging patterns of behavior in global politics
based on alliances between coalitions in global civil society and
various international governance arrangements (see, e.g., Wilmer,
1993, on indigenous peoples alliances).
What constitutes the equivalent of citizenship in such a sys-
tem of global governance? The interests of transnational capital are
represented, to some degree, in the international financial regimes
but, so far, there is little if any global regulation for the rest of us
(Lipschutz, 1999d). There are no mechanisms for representation of
anything other than nation-states (although a number of groups and
organizations do have observer status in the United Nations Gen-
eral Assembly). There are only a very few judicial fora in which
actors other than nation-states can bring international legal actions
(although, again, this situation is slowly changing). The idea of the
“world” citizen is a rather empty one, while arguments about glo-
bal “cosmopolitanism” rarely acknowledge just how few are the
members of this class. For the moment, therefore, the answer to
this question is less than clear. In the longer term, however, we
might expect to see the issues of membership and representation
become central to support for the institutions and mechanisms of
global governance.
Politics among People 175
Here I would propose that the “organic intellectuals” that operate within
these counterhegemonic social movements constitute a transnational
cadre that could help to create the “double movement” discussed by
Polanyi and Gill.
I do not refer here to populist opposition to globalization, as put
forth by both the left and the right. Such movements seek to restore
the primacy of the nation-state in the regulation of spheres of produc-
tion and social life, although they have rather different ideas about the
ends of such a restoration. Rather, I refer to more nuanced critiques of
current modes of transnational regulation and their lack of representa-
tion, transparency, and accountability. Globalization offers a space for
political organizing and activism of which these organic intellectuals
and the mobilizers and members of nascent political communities are
well-positioned to take advantage.
Politics among People 177
Political Deterritorialization
Do the foregoing notions suggest a global future that might, just pos-
sibly, be less dismal than that of the realists and catastrophists? Per-
haps. But such a future will not happen without deliberate action. In
the final chapter of The Great Transformation, Polanyi pointed, once
again, to the way in which the loosing of the self-regulating market on
nineteenth-century society in the interests of certain elites led to the
inevitable destruction of that society:
Juridical and actual freedom can be made wider and more general
than ever before; regulation and control can achieve freedom not
only for the few, but for all. Freedom not as an appurtenance of
privilege, tainted at the source, but as a prescriptive right extend-
ing far beyond the narrow confines of the political sphere into the
intimate organization of society itself. (Polanyi, 1944/1957:256)
183
184 Notes
United States did not hold enough gold to redeem all of the dollars in circulation
abroad. Were the demand for gold to outstrip U.S. gold stocks, the role of the
dollar as an international reserve currency could be undermined or destroyed.
3. Again, it is important to recognize that the “self-regulating market”
is a fiction; it must be supported by implicit or explicit agreements regarding
rules of operation (Attali, 1997).
4. A conventional security-based account can be found in Gaddis (1982;
1987). An economic account is Pollard (1985). A revisionist economistic
account can be found in McCormick (1996). A sophisticated and insightful
analysis of the process discussed is Gill (1993: esp. 30–34).
5. In essence, this is the core of the so-called Washington consensus,
the increasingly popular argument that democracies do not go to war with each
other. For a critical assessment of this claim, see Mansfield and Snyder (1995).
6. The dollar was exchangeable for gold at the rate of $35/ounce.
Americans could not hold gold bullion and only governments could officially
request gold for their dollars. At this rate of exchange, Fort Knox held about
$10 billion in gold.
7. Charles Tilly said “The state made war and war made the state.”
After World War II, the state made Cold War and Cold War made the state.
8. This was not the only reason underlying the extension of civil
rights to African Americans and the implementation of affirmative action, of
course. There was also a fear of urban revolt and a desire to show the world
that the United States did not oppress its minorities.
9. This continues to be the case today, as evidence by the high pro-
portion of non-U.S. citizens receiving doctorates in scientific and engineering
fields. According to Joseph Nye and William Owens (1996:29), “American
higher education draws some 450,000 foreign students each year.”
10. For example, the Soviet Union’s MIG fighters were as good or
better than anything the United States had to offer, but its avionics used
vacuum tubes rather than semiconductor devices. Tubes offered greater pro-
tection against the electromagnetic pulses associated with nuclear detona-
tions, but the Soviets used them because they could not miniaturize the
electronics.
11. The rise of the behavioralist model in the social sciences was part
of this process, too.
12. To be entirely fair, Buchanan put the blame on free trade; that his
analysis was, at best, partial and at worst, completely wrong, does not invali-
date my argument here.
13. People might be offered equal opportunities to succeed, although
even this is difficult to accomplish in practice. Even so, not everyone will
seize those opportunities and succeed.
Notes 185
10. It does not qualify as bona fide structural adjustment because the
dollar remains dominant in the global economy and the United States has not
yet been forced to reduce its budget deficits. But, it would be interesting to
compare the effects of somewhat similar policies on labor in the United
States and former Socialist countries.
11. For example, “electronic classrooms” may make it possible for one
professor to lecture to many classrooms at the same time, thereby reducing
labor costs for universities. See Marshall (1995b) and The Economist (1995a).
12. This is Huntington’s (1997) argument, as well. The question is
whether the “loss of enemies” is really such a problem.
13. Note that one of the most wide-ranging of such incidents to date
occurred as the result of satellite failure. For a couple of days, tens of millions
of pagers and thousands of computerized gas pumps went off the air. For an
insightful analysis of what can and does go wrong with computer-run com-
plex systems, see Rochlin (1997).
14. As Karl Marx said, “Adam Smith’s contradictions are of significance
because they contain problems which it is true he does not resolve, but which
he reveals by contradicting himself.”
15. Of course, “reality” is a loaded word. Inasmuch as the world and
its condition are described by language, there are limits to a truly objective
description. You and I can agree that that thing over there is a tank, but I say
it is for defensive purposes only, while you say it is for offensive purposes.
16. These are questions ordinarily not asked. Either definitions of se-
curity are taken to be objective and nonproblematic, or the state is reified
even as security and anarchy are treated as intersubjective constructs.
17. This is, in essence, the argument put forth by Alexander George in
Bridging the Gap (1993), although he does acknowledge that images of the
enemy are often inaccurate and that acting on such images may lead to
undesirable outcomes. A rather different perspective is offered by Smithson
(1996).
18. In other words, the enemy, and the threat it presents, possess char-
acteristics specific to the society defining them. See, e.g., Weldes (1992),
Lipschutz (1989), and Campbell (1990, 1992).
19. To this, the realist would argue: “But states exist and the condition
of anarchy means that there are no restraints on their behavior toward others!
Hence, threats must be material and real.” As Nicholas Onuf (1989), Alex
Wendt (1992), Mercer (1995), and Kubálková, Onuf, and Kowert (1998) have
argued, even international anarchy is a social construction inasmuch as cer-
tain rules of behavior inevitably form the basis for such an arrangement
(Lipschutz, 1992a).
Notes 187
11. Indeed, the dance has begun to seem like farce, to the point that a
character on The X-Files (December 6, 1998) can plausibly claim that Saddam
Hussein is a guy from Brooklyn who, put into power by the CIA, rattles his
sabers whenever the U.S. government requires public distraction from other matters.
1. This is not the precise wording of the document referred to. There,
the author (Serageldin, 1995:2) writes, “Agreement on access to water is an
important part of the peace accords between Israel and its neighbors. . . . As
populations and demand for limited supplies of water increase, interstate and
international frictions over water can be expected to intensify.”
2. To name just a few: Starr and Stoll, 1988; Starr, 1991, 1995;
Beschorner, 1992; Lowi, 1992, 1993, 1995; Bulloch and Dawish, 1993; Kally
with Fishelson, 1993; Hillel, 1994; Isaac and Shuval, 1994; Gleick, 1994;
Murakami, 1995; Starr, 1995; Wolf, 1995.
3. “Global deficiencies and degradation of natural resources, both
renewable and non-renewable, coupled with the uneven distribution of these
raw materials, can lead to unlikely—and thus unstable—alliances, to national
rivalries, and, of course, to war” (Westing, 1986: introduction).
4. “We are . . . talking about maintaining access to energy resources
that are key—not just to the functioning of this country but the entire world.
Our jobs, our way of life, our own freedom, and the freedom of friendly
countries around the world would suffer if control of the world’s great oil
reserves fell into the hands of Saddam Hussein” (President George Bush,
1990).
5. Although many scholars argue that wars between Israel and its
neighbors have been about water, the evidence in support of this unicausal
explanation remains thin.
6. The best example of this was the struggle over Alsace-Lorraine
between France and Germany. Only the shedding of the nation’s blood could
redeem the lost pieces of the organic nation-state. See Elias (1994).
7. As opposed to political geography, which studies the “relationship
between geographical factors and political entities” (Weigert, et al., 1957).
Geography can be changed, of course, as evidenced for example by the case
of the Panama Canal. Oddly, perhaps, the canal served to enhance American
power—it was now possible for the Navy to move from one ocean to the
other more quickly—while also exacerbating vulnerability: any other power
gaining access to the canal could now threaten the opposite U.S. coast more
quickly.
190 Notes
8. The dictum was: “Who rules East Europe commands the Heart-
land; Who rules the Heartland commands the World-Island; Who rules the
World-Island commands the World” (Mackinder, 1919/1962:150; see also
Mackinder, 1943).
9. Interestingly, as I noted in chapter 3 and discuss in chapter 6,
culture has become the most recent refuge for many of those international
relations scholars who are unable to account otherwise for the vagaries of
world politics; see e.g., Fukuyama (1995b) and Huntington (1996).
10. More recent expressions of this still-common view can be found in
Choucri and North (1975) and Organski and Kugler (1980).
11. Some writers, such as Richard Dawkins (1989), have gone so far
as to argue that the appropriate unit of competition and survival is the indi-
vidual “gene,” and that humans (and, presumably, other species) are only
containers for them. Of course, by that argument, bacteria and viruses are
probably “bound to win.”
12. Principle 21 abjures states to recognize the “responsibility to en-
sure that activities within their jurisdiction or control do not cause damage to
the environment of other States or of areas beyond their national jurisdiction.”
Cited in Nanda (1995:86).
13. Do we ever speak of “ecological interdependence” with, say our chil-
dren, spouses, significant others, or existing between California and Nevada?
14. Some have noted, of course, that renewable resources are not sub-
ject to this particular economic logic, inasmuch as their flows are large and
their stocks small or nonexistent. But economists still argue that markets can
prevent unsustainable depletion through the price mechanism. Unfortunately,
by the time prices rise sufficiently to impel substitution, the renewable re-
source may be depleted beyond recovery.
15. The 1997–98 El Niño illustrated this proposition rather nicely: in
the ocean, many species could follow the food from their normal feeding
groups, and blue whales, tuna, and marlin were seen or caught off the coast
of Northern California. Anchovy, being less able to go with the flows, died
in droves off the coast of Peru.
16. And the invocation to “free up” markets does little to address the
immediate needs of those who have no food.
17. The “double hermenutic” is a term used by Anthony Giddens to
describe how scholars use the behavior of policymakers to formulate theories,
and how policymakers, in turn, behave according to the dictates of theory; see
the discussion in Dessler (1989).
18. Nor did they recognize that, given the nature of oil markets, even
control of oil would not have prevented a generalized increase in prices; see
Lipschutz (1992a).
Notes 191
19. Parallel to the argument about old married couples, divorce consti-
tutes an effort to reestablish independence but usually serves to illustrate just
how difficult it is to completely sever the bonds of matrimony.
20. This is best seen in discourses about population. The rich consume
much more than the poor, but it is the rapidly-growing numbers of poor who
the rich fear will move north and cross borders (thereby ignoring the fact that
the rich moved south centuries ago).
21. This ignores the obvious point that human activities have never
been “neatly compartmentalized.”
22. The Newtonian “harmony of the spheres” remains with us today,
even as ecologists warn us that ecosystemic balance and stability do not, for
the most part, exist.
23. This is described as the “quantitative fallacy” by David Hackett
Fischer (1970:90).
1. Which is why more than $20 billion have been spent on antimissile
defense research and development, and why several hundred million dollars
and more continue to be spent on it each year.
2. Susan Strange (1996) has also taken note of this phenomenon, but
she ascribes it to the “retreat of the state.”
Notes 193
3. Note that this is hardly a new argument and that in making it, I do
not propose the restoration of theocracy or a return to Victorian values, as
proposed by Gertrude Himmelfarb (1995). I do, however, believe that norms
and ethics are important; see Hirsch (1995) and the essays in Ellis and Kumar
(1983).
4. I do not mean to imply that the Treaty of Westphalia actually was
the means of accomplishing this; rather, it put the stamp of legitimacy on an
arrangement that had been developing for some time.
5. Barry Buzan (1991) acknowledges this in his schema of anarchies
ranging from “immature” to “mature,” but he retains survival in the state of
nature as the rationale for movement toward greater maturity.
6. This point is evident, as well, in “traditional” societies and com-
mon-pool resource systems, where violation of the mutual bonds of obliga-
tion and responsibility can result in eviction from the community.
7. And this does not mean that we now subscribe to a secular order;
see Bragg (1997).
8. The notion of “just war,” which represented an effort to impose
morality on the conduct of war, does not contradict this argument, I think.
Civilians were the subjects of the prince and his morality, not the source of
that morality.
9. The Jews, who had earlier been expelled from England, were
sufficiently powerless and few in number to make this practical; there were
altogether too many Catholics, however, for either expulsion or extermination
to be practical.
10. Thereby creating an inversion of Benedict Anderson’s (1991) “imag-
ined communities,” which we might call “unimaginable communities.”
11. Although, as we see in claims being made against Switzerland and
the former East Germany, extermination does not necessarily eliminate claims
to property.
12. One is left to wonder what might happen should we make contact
with non-terrestrial life, whether intelligent or not. Recent films (Men in
Black, Starship Troopers) suggest, in particular, that “bugs” are the enemy,
although some, such as The Faculty, warn us about our familiars, as well; see
Leary (1997).
13. That is not to say that domestic security was not a concern; the ever
vigilant search for ideological threats was pursued by a transnational network
of intelligence and surveillance agencies whose capacity was often far in
excess of any demonstrated need.
14. It was called the “Grand Area”; see Shoup and Minter (1977).
15. The distinction was never as great as claimed. The isolationists
wanted to keep pernicious influences out; the internationalists wanted to keep
them contained. Both aimed to avoid “contamination.”
194 Notes
16. The defection of Yassir Arafat from the bad bloc to the good bloc
clearly demonstrates how membership in both has more to do with morality
than power.
197
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Index
221
222 Index
identities, 114; and borders, 60, 90, 97, 105, 158; and self-
90, 96–97, 177; construction blame, 114. See also ideol-
of, 100, 110, 113, 120, 177; ogy; markets; self-interest
national, 45, 53; proliferation industrial revolution, 15–19, 24;
of, 36; and threat from the first, 13–14, 18, 23, 29, 30;
Other, 100, 120; threats to, second, 22, 30, 40; and
110. See also borders and impacts of, 14, 30; and social
boundaries; culture; ethnicity change, 13–14; and technol-
ideology, 28, 146, 176, 193n.13; ogy, 23; third, 15, 21–24, 30,
and culture, 113, 121; and 35. See also globalization;
historical structures, 35, 111; innovation; revolution
collapse of, 39, 54; interde- information: interpretation of, 51;
pendence rhetoric as, 101; networks, 160; as private
naturalization of, 86; of property, 29, 185n.14; and
success and failure, 114. See production, 22; revolution,
also authority; culture; 15, 22, 24; and security, 51;
geopolitics; markets; warfare, 46–48, 78–80.
naturalization See also commodification;
imagined: communities, 97, 110, knowledge; networks;
130, 144, 167, 171, 193n.10; privatization
consequences of war, 74; innovation: by U.S. allies, 26; and
enemies, 79, 144, 148–150, food production, 95; social, 7,
186n.17, 186n.18; futures, 68, 13–14, 18, 23, 24, 26, 30, 32;
71; threats, 49–50, 68, 69, technological, 17, 23, 26, 89,
144; wars, 63, 68, 70, 72, 78 163
imperialism: age of, 86; as insecurity dilemma, 4, 34, 36, 48,
response to economic depres- 60, 62. See also enemies;
sion, 18; and state expansion, security; threats
89; moral, 143 Inside/Outside: International
individual: and authority, 159; and Relations as Political Theory,
citizenship, 39; and identity, 1; 191n.2
and loyalty, 1, 55, 126, 132, interdependence, 59, 86, 97–102,
167; and markets, 4, 90, 191n.19; definition of, 99–
184n.13; and opportunity, 100; ecological, 93, 105,
184n.13; and security, 37; and 190n.13; as ideology, 101;
sovereignty of, 32; and welfare and peace, 7, 37, 85, 185n.5;
of, 44. See also ideology; theory, 99–101, 123. See also
markets; self-interest ecological; economic growth;
individualism, 167; and the Free globalization; markets; peace;
World, 42; methodological, war
Index 231
privatization: of commons, 16, 28; realism, 36, 45, 97, 105, 123,
of intellectual property, 29; of 179; conception of state in,
security, 45. See also property 136, 137; definition of, 93.
rights See also authority; borders
production, 6; and capitalism, 15– and boundaries; power;
19, 94, 124, 161, 192n.11, security; states
192n.13; and culture, 112; regimes, international, 98, 163–
and military infrastructure, 164, 174, 194n.3; accountabil-
39; niche, 129; and property, ity of, 164, 174. See also
94; social relations of, 15–16; democratization; governance
and surplus capacity, 18, 22; Reich, Robert, 26, 44
and war, 81. See also capital- reproduction: and culture, 112; of
ism; economic growth; domestic American conditions
globalization; liberalization; abroad, 20; of nonmaterial
markets; reproduction basis of state, 39; of security
property rights: commons and policies, 56; of societies, 117;
common pool, 16, 28, 193n.6; and the state, 172–173. See
enclosure and elimination of, also culture; production
16, 92, 145; intellectual, 29; resources: common pool, 193n.6;
of nations, historical, 144; control of, 110; distribution
and sovereignty, 85, 92–94, of among states, 93–95, 97,
97; state protection of, 136. 101, 191n.20; management of,
See also resources; sover- 93, 84, 102; and morality,
eignty 151; price of, 97, 190n.18;
Puritan Revolution and Common- renewable, 190n.14, 190n.15;
wealth, 153 shortages of, 21; substitution
for, 104, 190n.14; supply of,
40, 84, 93–95, 190n.14; trade
Quadrennial Defense Review, 57, in, 85; wars over, 9, 50, 83–
66–67, 73, 74 85, 94, 99, 105, 107, 189n.3,
quantitative fallacy, 191n.23 189n.4. See also flows;
scarcity; sustainability
Retreat of the State, The, 193n.1.
RAND Corporation, 70 See also Strange, Susan
Rapid Deployment Force (RDF). revolution: bourgeois, history of,
See Central Command 17, 175–176; electronics/
rationality, 74, 156. See also information, 22; French,
choice; irrationality 143; nuclear, 22; leaders of,
Reagan, President Ronald, 27, 94, 175–176; social, 17. See
133, 134, 135, 170 also industrial revolution
Index 237